


The Bitchelor

by ElDiablito_SF, Zoi no miko (zoi_no_miko)



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reality Show, Crack, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Flint is a bitch, M/M, Reality TV, The Bachelor AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-09-14 13:35:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16913814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElDiablito_SF/pseuds/ElDiablito_SF, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoi_no_miko/pseuds/Zoi%20no%20miko
Summary: Eleanor Guthrie needs a new boyfriend for her Hot Gay Dad. And her career needs a pick me up. Fortunately, a certain reality TV offer promises to solve both problems at once. But can Flint cope with the stresses of reality TV... and eleven men vying for his favor?





	1. First Impression

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ellel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellel/gifts).



> Dear Elle, you asked for this, so if it ends up terrible we only have you to blame. :D  
> P.S. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
> 
> A note on The Bachelor:
> 
> Please be advised that neither one of us has ever actually watched The Bachelor. The only thing we know about this ~~awful~~ show is what we learned from Google and RuPaul's Drag Race. We've also changed the "format" to suit our own narrative needs because, let's face it, we have no respect for this particular source material. ;)

Eleanor Guthrie wasn’t an idiot. She knew her career had taken a nose-dive when the best offer on the table was to take over as a new host of _The Bachelor_ , a show that she frankly derided as catering to the lowest common denominator of the chronically bored and the clinically underemployed. Eleanor already had an Emmy under her belt from her prior hosting work and she would rather shove that entire thing up her ass than take a job with the fucking evil step-mommy of all reality TV.

“Puke,” she muttered into her vodka. Then her phone burped. And a brilliant idea was born.

***

Captain James "Flint" McGraw III definitely checked many of the boxes that the producers of _The Bachelor_ looked for:

  * Single
  * Money
  * Looked like he belonged on the cover of GQ
  * That navy allure
  * Single
  * Probably smelled as good as he looked



Was it enough to balance out the one unchecked box of "Heterosexual"? Eleanor Guthrie seemed completely convinced. "Think of it this way," she told them, one perfectly groomed blonde eyebrow arched. "After the homophobic dumpster fire your last host lit on top of himself, you could do to earn some gay brownie points. A _lot_ of gay brownie points."

Which was how one Captain Flint, Naval Hero and owner of a quarter of the real estate in Napa, was suddenly poised to become America's Most Eligible. He was simply eligible to a slightly different portion of the population.

Now, convincing her hot gay surrogate dad to participate required an entirely different set of skills. (Begging, threatening, blackmail.)

"I told you not to take that CW show." Flint set down the glass of very expensive whiskey she'd ordered him, staring at her across the table. "It's hardly my fault you didn't listen and caught the career equivalent of herpes from it."

“You owe me one, Flint! Don’t make me remind you of that time with… the incident.”

“Christ, you make it sound like you helped me bury a body.”

“May as well have!” Eleanor shot back her own glass of neat Hangar One vodka and pushed her glass forward for a refill. “Plus, you could use some help in the matchmaking department. It’s not like you’ve had it easy dating lately.”

“And whom do you suppose I’m to date? In order to choose from amongst my peers, I have to first have _peers,_ ” Flint groused.

“This is exactly why you’re single,” Eleanor pointed out. “You’re a snob without equal.”

“And how is going on a stupid reality TV show going to help me with that?”

“Well, for one thing, I will be in charge of picking your suitors.”

“I thought that was the producers’ job and you’re just hosting.”

Eleanor narrowed her eyes, tightened her pelvic floor just as her pilates instructor taught her, and went in for the kill. “ _The incident_ ,” she hissed. Flint never actually stood a chance.

***

During the meet and greet, Flint found himself dodging the cameras and maneuvering Eleanor into a dark corner.

“Get me the fuck out of here,” he whispered.

“Can’t,” Eleanor shook her head. “You signed a contract. Why? What’s wrong?”

“What _wrong?_ ” Flint spat. “Have you seen some of these specimens? Why that one there,” he pointed towards a small-boned man with a pair of oddly circular and outdated glasses. “He reminds me of a weasel I had as a pet once. Then he bit me and my boyfriend kicked him into the sewer. Can I give him a first impression rose that says ‘You’re an asshole?’”

"Conflict is good for the ratings," Eleanor hissed back. "You don't have to fuck him. Just keep him around for a few weeks to keep things interesting."

“What about the guy with the serious beard? Despite the beard, don't mistake him for a bear. I’m actually pretty sure he’s straight.”

“You should be saving this for the camera!” Eleanor replied and angrily turned Flint around, pushing him back into the fray.

“He tried to show me pictures of his son!” Flint shot back over his shoulder.

“Go mingle!”

"Charles really likes long walks on the beach," the man with the beard continued, as if Flint hadn't left his table without so much as an excuse five minutes earlier. "Really, I'm sure when you meet him you'll find you can just send the rest of these guys home and this will all be done with."

The idea, as insane as it was, was beginning to sound more and more tempting to Flint. It wasn't like he actually had to marry the winner, if nearly all of the previous seasons of this terrible show were any indication.

“Uh huh,” Flint said noncommittally. Across the room, a man with arms the size of Flint’s thighs was talking to a twink hogging the entire plate of cheese hors d’oeuvres. 

“He’s got this kid Jack constantly hanging about him,” Flint’s companion continued. “But I think you will agree a boy needs a proper man’s hand sometimes. And Jack is practically a lesbian.”

“What?” Flint was pretty sure this one was a plant because this couldn’t actually be happening to him.

“Don’t be bogarting the Bachelor, Teach,” a warm hand suddenly alighted upon Flint’s shoulder with a friendly squeeze. Flint rose to greet his savior who quickly introduced himself as “Sebastian Utley, at your service.” Flint shook the man’s hand judging and classifying his handshake as strong but not in a testosterone-y way, which immediately put him into Flint’s top 10.

“James Flint.” The camera zoomed right up his nostrils.

“Yeah, so I figured,” Utley said with a radiant grin.

“Thank you for saving me back there. I was truly confused about what was going on.”

“I think the way this works is you’re supposed to date, fall in love with, and marry one of us,” Utley explained with a pleasant eye-twinkle. Flint took in his shoulder to hip ratio and nodded with approval.

“I’m pretty sure that guy was trying to get me to date his son. Or maybe adopt his son? I don’t know, it was… strange.”

“So you were in the Navy? I was Army myself,” Utley mentioned as he smoothly subbed Flint’s empty champagne glass for a full one. Utley was much better at this small talk thing than he was himself, Flint deduced. 

In the corner, half hidden behind a potted plant, Flint stalwartly ignored Eleanor's thumbs up.

Across the room, Beardy McGee - Teach, Flint remembered - seemed to be engaged in a hissed argument with a painfully hipster looking man in tight tartan pants. "Look," Teach was saying in a terrible stage whisper, "I may not approve of you dating my Son, but that doesn't mean you can expect to prance around here tarting yourself up and cheating on Charles without me saying anything!"

Flint had never seen someone pull on their waxed mustache before, but considering everything else about the night it seemed par for the course as the hipster replied. "How do I even start with you? I'm not cheating on your son because I'm not dating your - Charles isn't even your son!"

“You’re distracted,” one of Utley’s large hands squeezed Flint’s upper arm. “I hope we have more time to talk on our subsequent dates.”

“You’re very understanding,” Flint attempted to reply as cordially as possible while screaming on the inside. 

He took a step backwards, colliding with a man who brandished vampire teeth at him and squawked “Aaaarrr!”

“Joshua,” Flint pointed towards him. Weird as fuck but memorable. He just had to maneuver across the room without somehow bumping into Charles’ pimp or the weasel or the guy now stuffing his pockets with tiny slivers of extra sharp cheddar. He gave a little awkward wave to the guy who was introduced to him as “Joji,” a silent type, which definitely was not without its appeals.

"Quite the menagerie here, isn't it?" The voice that reached Flint's ears was smooth and low, and in the midst of all the strangeness, almost... soothing? He turned, finding himself face to face with a tall blond drink of water, who was holding a... where on earth had the man procured an actual martini?

"If this is a menagerie, what does that make you?" Flint's snark responded before he could tell it to shut up. Fortunately the man laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"At the moment, I feel a bit like a deer in the headlights," he replied. Definitely British, from the accent, Flint decided as he tried to place the region. "I'm afraid this whole thing was my wife's idea, but I promised her I'd give it a go. Ah, ex-wife. Sorry. It's... complicated."

Not quite as reassuring as Utley, Flint thought, then immediately felt more awkward about the fact that he'd somehow started ranking them already. But this one was certainly... striking. And the more Flint looked at him, the more strangely familiar he seemed. "Well, I suppose all of this is a bit complicated," he managed to reply. "And you are...?"

"Thomas. Hamilton." Blondie offered a hand, his clasp firm and warm, and suddenly everything clicked.

 _Peers_ , Flint thought. " _Lord_ Thomas Hamilton?"

Hamilton looked slightly embarrassed at the term. "Well, technically that's my father, but the papers do love a juicy story about anyone with a title, don't they? I assure you the divorce was completely amicable, and... I hope we'll have a chance to get to know each other a little better?"

Part of Flint wanted any excuse to get the night over with, but before he could open his mouth to say so, Thomas leaned closer, lowering his voice. "The quiet little one in the corner with the curls has beautiful eyes. Make sure you don't miss him."

Flint looked past him. "Dooley? I met him when I came in the door."

Thomas laughed again softly, shaking his head, and took hold of Flint's shoulders, forcibly turning his body. "That one, dear."

 _Oh._ Flint's gaze found its mark just as the young man looked up, and suddenly he found himself drowning in an ocean of blue. He took a shaky step forward, nearly knocking over one of the camera men who was crouching down to get a better shot of what Flint hoped was Lord Hamilton’s bulge (he wasn’t looking because he was a gentleman, but some things a man could just _sense_ ). The man in the corner rose with a smile on his face that was just this side of shy, when Flint’s path was blocked once again by Eleanor’s beaming face.

“Cheer up, pops, you’re doing great,” she said and clapped her hands. “All right, boys, line up so we can tape the closing!”

***

The rules were simple. What would follow were activity-based group dates, at the end of which Flint would give away a limited number of roses to those contestants who would be invited to stay. Things would continue, until two contestants were left, at which point Flint would choose his favorite and, as Eleanor told him through gritted teeth, Propose Or Else. He'd convinced himself it would be as easy as a bracket elimination - A or B, C or D. A or D. Now he felt a bit like he'd been duped somehow. Probably by himself.

"Of course we know that romance often takes a bit of something special," Eleanor continued, then held up three silver fobs with keys attached. "So if at any point our Bachelor would like some private time to get to know you better in a completely platonic fashion, he may choose to cash in one of his three private suite keys to give a lucky contestant a full night alone with him.”

(In the cut footage, one would find Edward Teach awkwardly asking whether he could send a “proxy” to his key night and Flint face-palming behind Eleanor’s back.)

“At this time, James has the opportunity to give out his first impression roses,” Eleanor continued. “Now, remember, no one is going home tonight, this is just a nice way for our Bachelor to escalate the drama a bit,” she winked to the chorus of chuckles.

Flint twirled four long stemmed red roses between his fingers. “Lord Hamilton,” he called out with a lopsided grin.

“I hope you don’t just like me for my big title,” the man whispered as he embraced Flint to accept the rose. Flint turned away, to make sure the cameraman didn’t catch him blushing like a schoolboy.

“Sebastian Utley,” he called out the next name.

Utley's smile was warm and just as charming as his introduction had been. Flint prudently kept his hands above the belt as they embraced. There was something about Utley’s demeanor that struck Flint as a sure thing, but not in a gross way, and he filed that peculiar thought away for further ruminations.

“What’s the name of the cute one with the curls?” he whispered into Eleanor’s ear.

“Dooley?”

“No, the little one.”

“Oh! John Silver.”

(At this point in the show, the confessional cam would focus in on poor Dooley, sighing and saying, “I hope daddy notices me.”)

“John Silver,” Flint repeated in his commanding voice.

The young man started at his name, eyes darting to Flint in amazement. Blue as the mediterranean, Flint found himself thinking, his mouth going dry. He watched Silver smile that same sweet, shy smile, carefully picking his way through the crowd until he was at Flint's side.

Those eyes weren't a trick of the light, shining as they looked up at him. "I thought I might have missed my chance with you already." 

“Plenty of chances to still fuck it up,” Flint countered and the proceeded to heavily yet proverbially kick himself in his own balls. "I mean... um."

“I’m charmed,” Silver replied, taking the rose with the look of a man who just smelled a fart.

There was only one way to make up for this unintentional gaffe, so Flint held himself upright as if at a military parade, and in his loudest voice called out the name of “Melville Dufresne!”

The weaselly guy with the face of a scoundrel bounced up with glee to receive his first impression.

Flint forced the rose into his hand with a very decisive “Please leave now.”

“What?” Dufresne stared. “But she said…”

“Go,” Flint repeated, implacable. "I'm not about to waste anyone's time, and especially not mine. Leave."

“Well!” Eleanor exclaimed, manfully ushering the stunned Dufresne out the door and into the arms of waiting handlers. “There’s drama for you! Let no one say this season isn’t off to a really interesting start!” She faced one of the cameramen with a contagious grin. “Let the hair-pulling begin!”

Flint shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. If there was to be a hair-pulling contest, he was pretty sure Utley would leave the rest in the dirt because his own hair had already been presciently shaved off.

("He's clearly a self-important dickbag," Dufresne would sneer at the confessional camera. "But at least Woodes Rogers won't be the most hated bachelor of all time anymore.")


	2. Group Dating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get increasingly more out of hand....

When Eleanor had pitched the damn show to him, the last thing Flint had expected on the list of romantic dates was....

"My Son once got three holes in one in a row," Beardy McGee was proudly telling anyone who would listen, which for the moment was only the twink holding a box of Cheez-its.

Flint leaned closer to Eleanor again. "... why."

"Just smile and admire their butts, pops," Eleanor said through gritted teeth, lips not moving in their perfect smile. “You may also take note of Billy’s arms, for example.”

“Who’s Billy?”

“The one who just propelled the entire club into the air instead of the tiny ball,” Eleanor remarked with an overabundance of cheer. “You _know_ Billy.”

Flint decidedly did _not_ know Billy. He knew that one of the contestants was so tall that it hurt Flint’s neck to try and make eye-contact with him, so he resolved to keep his eyes safely at ass-level, just as Eleanor suggested.

Out of the corner of his eye, Flint caught Hamilton and the curly charmer engaged in a discussion of the proper way to swivel one’s hips. “You can do it, darling,” Thomas was saying, his fingers maneuvering Silver’s hip bones as if they were a spinning top. “It’s really all about putting pressure on your other foot when you rotate.”

“I thought they were supposed to be getting to know _me_ ,” Flint groused to Eleanor, “not each other.”

“I’m walking away now,” she responded, with a look that conveyed none of the fictive-filial piety that Flint expected from her.

There was definitely far less than the width of a bible between that ass and that package, Flint noted, striding over to them without so much as a golf club. "I should have known you'd be an expert at miniature golf too," he said, managing at the last minute to hold back jealous annoyance in the efforts not to alienate either of them any more than he already had.

"Hello, darling." Thomas Hamilton's eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, and part of Flint wanted to hate him for being so goddamn alluring.

“Hello, yourself,” he replied with all the subtlety of a mallet.

Glancing sideways, Flint could just see John Silver roll his eyes, giving his ball an enthusiastic thwack. The orange day-glow sphere careened down the length of the track, bouncing off brick walls and completely bypassing the hole before jumping the curb and bouncing off towards the parking lot. "Oh… festering fuckhole," Silver muttered.

"Perhaps you'd like to give Mr. Silver a hand?" Thomas offered, his own eyes drifting towards the ass of the man in question as he marched deliberately towards Silver's runaway golf ball.

"It's just 'Silver'!" Silver shot back over his shoulder.

From the other side of the mini-course, Flint heard a strange utterance of “You’re wearing Birkenstocks to a golf course, Jack?”

"They have very good arch support, I'll have you know!"

“So, you, uh…” Flint mustered his forces. “Not a fan of golf?” 

“You, uh… Had many long deployments at sea during which you talked to no one but seamen for prolonged periods of time?” Silver replied with frankly a lot more sauciness than Flint expected, based on their first encounter. “Why don’t you show me how it’s done, Captain?” Silver’s eyebrows moved in an upwards sway and he handed his club over to Flint, fingers barely brushing at the pass-off.

Flint sighed. He sucked at this. Small talk. Flirting. Acting like a human being. Being a rich asshole was just so much easier. So he stared down the ball like it was the telescope with crosshairs, and banged it gamely into the hole inside the mouth of some carnivalic monstrosity that passed for “quaint” around this place.

“Well, that showed _me_ ,” Silver laughed, swaying briefly backwards on his heels. “You know your way around a hole, Captain.”

“I should probably make some sort of innuendo now,” Flint said, regrettably out loud.

“Tsk tsk, this is a family show,” a new voice saved Flint from his own inevitable ruin. He turned and beheld Utley. Being saved by the handsome army man from precarious social encounters was rapidly becoming “their thing.” 

He gave Utley a relieved smile. "Well, they did send us to put balls in holes," he joked, taking advantage of a moment away from putting to again admire the man's physique.

"Did all of us get that memo?" Utley tilted his head to the setup several holes in front of them. It involved trying to putt past a swaying pirate ship, but the guy with tree trunks for arms had pushed the boat back to hold it out of Cheez-it-boy's way, breaking the prop ship off its mooring completely.

“Look, I’m pretty sure that’s cheating,” Silver announced. 

“But not unimpressive,” Flint admitted. Utley and Silver exchanged a look over his shoulder that he couldn’t begin to contemplate. 

Perhaps he should’ve practiced on the guys he actually found marginally less attractive, Flint thought, scanning the horizon for any signs of Dooley and Joshua, whom he had mentally marked for elimination already based purely on… well, snobbery. And he was yet to say a word to Joji. Which, still struck Flint as oddly appealing. 

Flint awkwardly excused himself and strolled over to the bar where Dooley appeared to have ordered a pitcher of something dark and hoppy. “For the guys who finished the course already,” the man nodded in a friendly way. “Wanna join?”

 _I’m so woefully out of your league,_ Flint thought. “Sure,” he conceded. For ratings.

***

“What are you _doing_ to these men?” Eleanor stormed into the private residence that had been Flint’s for the duration of the shooting.

“Well, a whole lot of nothing currently,” Flint stirred from his interrupted nap.

“I saw the dailies,” Eleanor said, pushing Flint’s feet out of her way so that she could plop onto the couch next to him. “They’re for shit, pops. You have zero chemistry with all of these dudes, which is _weird_ because a good number of them are smoking hotties that I wouldn’t mind getting to know myself, if you catch my drift.” She elbowed him. It hurt his old-man flesh.

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” Flint pouted. “Teach is only in it to set me up with his son who’s not even on the fucking show. Arms and Cheez-its are more into each other than into me. And I’m pretty sure Jack is only attracted to lesbians. In fact, the one time I tried to hang out with him, he attempted to check if I was one.”

“What the fuck does that even _mean_?” Eleanor choked.

“You don’t wanna know. Trust me.”

(The only part of that encounter that made the show involved Jack rubbing Flint's back with a look of concentration, then reaching for his crotch in a way that was immediately pixelated out. "Huh," he said, staring down. "That's detachable, right?")

Eleanor let out a long suffering sigh "Alright, so four down. That leaves Dooley, Joji, Joshua, Utley, Silver, and Lord Thomas Hamilton. Surely at least a couple of them must be slightly interesting? I thought gay men were all about fuck now, ask questions later?"

“Well, I’m not _like_ most gay men, I guess. I like to… you know.”

“Oral sex first?”

“No! You know…”

“Oh, for Christ’s sakes, Flint. You’re not comfortable until you get to _know_ someone. It’s not like you have five different strains of herpes, you can say this out loud.”

“It just kinda sounds…”

“What? Gay?”

“Shut up, Ellie.”

"Truth hurts, doesn't it?" Eleanor's smile was softer, though, and she patted Flint's knee. "Believe it or not, people respond positively to other people exhibiting emotions. Just try and spend a bit more time around them, alright? It might not be as terrible as you think. Go out into the garden and have some one on one time with whoever you like. Maybe use one of those gross keys and get a bit of privacy?"

"I'm not going to waste a sex key on a night of talking," Flint groused, and finally got up off the couch.

***

**  
**  
_Joshua’s Confessional:_  


I was pretty surprised when Flint asked me to take that soak in the hot tub with him, but hey, then I got to see him in trunks. Which was… Can I say it on TV? There’s a lot of junk in that trunk, baby got _back_! And then it turned out we both like to read a lot and he just really loves Homer, which shouldn’t be that surprising in retrospect. ...Although he didn’t need to recite entire passages from _The Odyssey_ by heart….

**_Dooley’s Confessional:_ **

I was pretty surprised when Flint invited me into the hot tub with him and Joshua... I mean, I really enjoyed our beer together during the mini-golf date but I didn't think we'd be getting that serious already. But then he spent the entire time talking with Joshua about the Simpsons, except it must have been some weird episode I'd never seen because all his quotes sounded really flowery and old fashioned. I think at one point they both forgot I was there. Still, it was kind of hot. I hope I get a rose tonight.

**_Jack’s Confessional:_ **

Flint was quoting a lot of Homer tonight, so I tried to quote Sappho to him. He was weirdly non-responsive. I'm beginning to suspect he might not have had many strong lesbian role models in his life. Although I did have a nice chat with Silver: apparently, he has two moms.

**_Teach’s Confessional:_ **

I’m pretty sure Ben was licking brie off of Billy’s pecs in the rose garden while Flint was in the hot tub with a couple of other guys. Do you guys wanna see a picture of my Son?

**_Joji’s Confessional:_ **

*footage missing*

**_Utley’s Confessional:_ **

When I watch Flint interact with the other men, he really looks like he's in a bit over his head. I'm glad he let me give him a back rub after he finished with Joshua and Dooley in the hot tub. I like to think we understand each other’s needs.

**_Thomas’ Confessional:_ **

I was really sad that John eschewed the hot tub party entirely tonight. From what I’ve seen, there’s a lot to admire there. Thank god for those plunging V-necks he wears, am I right? Ahem…. Not that there isn’t a lot of bounty to enjoy with Captain James Flint… Eyes… Freckles… Shoulders… Thighs. *takes a sip of his martini* Did I mention his thighs? I must send Miranda an email and thank her for insisting I do this show.

**_Silver’s Confessional:_ **

I wasn't really feeling the hot tub party tonight. I guess it just felt like it was a long day, I needed to spend a bit of time alone and put my feet up. Eventually when it sounded like things had quieted down I went to the kitchen. I was [censored] ravenous and Ben had been talking about cheese all day, which I guess stuck with me, ‘cuz I decided to make myself a grilled cheese sandwich. How hard can it be, right? Well, apparently it was pretty [censored] hard, because before I knew it, the bread was smoking and I was panicking. And then....

*Silver stops, and lets out an exasperated sigh.*

Then that [censored] showed up and saved me? Just this sudden whirlwind of... proficiency, and the fire was out and the pan was in the sink. And then... then we made sandwiches together. And then he kissed me on the forehead, took his sandwich and left again.

**_Flint’s Confessional:_ **

*Flint munches on a slightly soggy looking grilled cheese sandwich, staring silently into the camera for five minutes, then stands up and leaves.*

***

The first official Rose Ceremony was Eleanor’s one chance to rescue this dumpster truck fire of a season. Flint would be giving out six roses, sending four of the contestants home. Except two of the contestants were nowhere to be found. They weren’t in their rooms, they weren’t in the rose garden, they definitely weren’t floating face down in the hot tub.

“Their luggage is gone too,” she was informed by one of the hands.

“Fuck!” Eleanor grabbed the unfortunate crew member by the collar. "Didn't you see them go? Didn't _anyone_ see them go? Dammit, Featherstone, tell me we at least got some good TV out of this utter shit show?"

“Ma’am, we do have some footage but it’s decidedly not PG-13,” the man stuttered. “There was… a lot of cheese involved.”

"I don't care if you have to pixelate everything except their faces," Eleanor snarled, then released him. "Just get something on that fucking TV!"

She would end up in the annals of history as a fucking punch line, Eleanor thought, and went to raid the bar. She prayed they were paying for quality editing for all this garbage.

***

Standing pressed and dressed in one of the many tuxedos they'd rented for him for the show, Flint stared at the eight men that stood in front of him, arranged in neat rows on the stairs like they were about to sing an a capella number. Beside him on a silver tray sat six long-stemmed red roses. _Don't fuck it up again,_ he told himself firmly, and tried to pay attention to whatever Eleanor was saying.

"Prior to this afternoon, two of the contestants unfortunately chose to break the rules of the competition, and as such they are no longer in this household," she said smoothly, though Flint could see the fury barely contained beneath her perfectly coiffed exterior. "Fortunately that means more chances to find true love for the rest of you. Tonight, six of you will be given a rose, and will take another step towards happily wedded bliss. James, if you could please proceed with your choices."

 _Shit._ How was he supposed to do this again? Flint vaguely remembered one of the producers giving him long and detailed instructions, but he'd tuned the man out around the two minute mark. Part of him couldn't help but be annoyed that he had to stand on ceremony at all, when it would be so much easier to just tell Teach and the Lesbian to get the fuck out. 

Well, as long as he didn't say the wrong name entirely it would be okay.

He picked up the first rose, remembering how he'd put his foot in his mouth previously and fighting not to visibly wince. "John Silver."

The curly haired vision gave a small smile, stepping forward out of the bottom row. He stopped in front of him, looking up at Flint expectantly, and Flint blanked. Was he supposed to say something else?

 _"Will you accept this rose?"_ Eleanor hissed from behind her smile, and Flint felt the back of his neck heat.

"Will you accept my rose?" He repeated, the words running together in his rush, and thrust the flower out towards Silver. 

Silver's eyebrows knit together for a moment, making Flint hope it was in amusement. Fortunately the man took the bloom, stepping forward into Flint's embrace. “Thanks, Captain,” Silver’s whisper brushed Flint’s earlobe. His hands lingered briefly on Flint’s back as he stepped back, returning to his place in the lineup.

Well. That was one down. The second was easy. "Sebastian Utley," he said, watching the strong-jawed hunk smile and step forward. "Sebastian, will you accept this rose?"

"Most definitely," Utley replied in a purr as he took the flower from Flint, stepping in for a warm embrace. "I look forward to spending more time with you," he murmured, and winked before he turned back towards the stairs.

Third rose. Just as easy. Thomas Hamilton was truly the only contestant at Flint's level, and even if he had been getting handsy with Silver, Flint was not about to let that huge package walk out the door that easily. "Lord Thomas Hamilton."

God, but Thomas was beautiful when he smiled. He slipped between Silver and Jack, graceful as a cat, and Flint had to remind himself that he still had to speak. "Thomas, will you accept this rose?"

"From you? Always." Thomas's fingers curled around the stem, lips brushing the corner of Flint's mouth so briefly as they embraced that Flint might have thought it an accident if he didn't know better. 

Okay. Three down, no fuck-ups. Maybe he was getting used to this. Flint took the fourth rose. "Jooley."

No one in the lineup moved.

 _Shit_. Wasn't there one named Jooley? Two Jooleys? Clearly no Jooleys. He stared at the reassuring silent one. "Uh. Joji....?"

Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Silent gave a firm nod, stepping forward to take the rose and give Flint a reassuring clap on the back.

That left two. Flint resisted the urge to wipe his sweaty hands on his pants. The important ones were done, why was he so worried? At least he could remember Joshua's name (or at least his first name). It was hard to forget much about Joshua. "Joshua."

The man grinned wide as he took the rose, just barely revealing the points of his fake teeth. Definitely memorable, Flint thought, embracing him briefly. He glanced down to the tray to see only one rose remaining and gave a sigh of relief.

Eleanor took a step towards him, looking out at the eight contestants. "Gentlemen, this is the last rose for this evening. James, when you're ready."

Flint caught up the last rose, turned to the contestants, and... drew a complete blank.

 _Jooley,_ his mind tried to remind him, but that was wrong. He'd already tried that, for Joji. What the hell was the last guy's name? Should he just call for Jack and deal with the lesbian checks for another few days? "Doji," he tried in a panic, then continued on through every other possibility he could think of. "Drooly? Doodely? Dooley? Fooley?"

One of those had clearly been right, thank all the gods in the world, because the last, rather nondescript contestant let out a gasp of delight, running to Flint. "Yes, yes I will happily take the last rose!" he said, throwing his arms around Flint's neck and pressing a big kiss to his cheek.

Beside him, Eleanor gave an appropriately mournful sigh, stepping forward. "Jack. Edward. I'm sorry. Take a moment and say your goodbyes."

(Standing in the doorway of the house before the camera, Edward Teach would shed a tear. "He would have been so happy with Charles. I just want Charles to find love!"

The camera would catch Jack Rackham nearly skipping as he left the house, and the man gave the audience a roguish wink, smoothing one side of his moustache. "Silver asked me to take home a letter to his adopted moms. I think this could be the start of something really lovely. If not, perhaps keep me in mind to be your next Bachelorette?")


	3. The Boat Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing speaks of romance like getting out onto the open water!

“Full offense, but whose brilliant idea was it for all of us to go _fishing_?” Flint asked Eleanor with the look of a man who clearly deemed it beneath himself to procure his own food in any capacity. He was busy removing a fish hook from where it was lodged in the fine cotton of the back pocket of his slacks. A sheepish Dooley was actively pretending he had nothing to do with it, his fishing rod abandoned in despair.

“It’s supposed to present you an opportunity to impress everyone with your nautical knowledge,” Eleanor quipped.

“I was a captain of a fucking military carrier, not a _fisherman_ ,” Flint pressed with contempt.

A few paces off, Flint observed Thomas once again involved in a very hands on demonstration with John Silver of how to throw his line. Flint grit his teeth. He needed something to take the edge off. Maybe he could go sneak away to make out with Utley for a bit? Except Utley actually looked like he was _enjoying_ dipping his stick into the open sea, chatting up Joshua next to him casually about what the deal was with those fake teeth.

That seemed like something Flint should’ve been asking. After all, he was supposed to be getting to know these men, not doing battle with the great unknown.

“Do you believe that the bottom of the sea is full of giant, shit-eating monsters?” Flint heard Silver ask.

“Why would they eat shit, exactly?” Thomas asked.

“Well, there’s nothing else to eat down there, is there? It’s not like there’s anything photosynthetic growing in the deep. There’s probably Kaiju and shit down there.”

“There’s no such thing as Kaiju,” Flint suddenly interjected. He wasn’t even sure what a Kaiju was, but it sounded stupid, so he had to interfere before the conversation devolved even more.

“You were right,” Silver turned towards Thomas with a grin. “The best way to get his attention is to say something he disagrees with.”

“I got one!” Joshua suddenly declared with glee. As everyone watched him reel in his catch, Joshua took the still floundering fish off the hook and took a huge bite out of it. “I love sashimi,” he pronounced with his mouth full.

“Dude, what the fuck,” Dooley summed up everyone’s thoughts rather succinctly.

“This is excellent television,” Eleanor hissed into Flint’s ear. “So primal, so… So much better than quoting Homer in the hot tub.”

“Is this some kind of a weird provider kink with you or what?” Flint whispered back. For a moment that felt like it was out of some Dadaist nightmare Flint watched Joshua chew, glittering scales stuck to his lips and chin. How was the crew not stopping him? Who the hell was in charge here? He started towards where the man stood with Dooley on the other side of the stern. "Hey, uh. Could you maybe show me how you caught that thing? Just - you know, let the crew take care of the fish for now. Please." Jesus, it felt like he was trying to talk down some psycho with a loaded semi-automatic.

Fortunately something he said must have gotten through to the man, who tossed the still-twitching fish into the bucket in the middle of the deck. Soon Flint found himself trying very hard to seem interested in the art and science of fish lures, tiny silver scales still glinting off Joshua's stubble in the sunlight as he talked.

“The thing is,” he heard Utley say to someone else, “I’m not entirely unhungry myself.”

A soft, internal gnawing let Flint know at least his insides were in concurrence. It was getting late, and they hadn’t even had proper lunch yet.

Suddenly, as if on cue, he heard a large splash coming from the other side of the yacht, following by a really desperate sounding grunt from Joji.

“The fuck was that!” Dooley exclaimed.

“Food overboard!” Thomas hollered and pointed out to sea, where a white and blue cooler was dolorously bobbing along the waves, and inside it - all their hopes and dreams. At least for the foreseeable future.

“God damn it!” Eleanor shouted. “I had a special vegan meal ordered!”

“Since when are you a fucking vegan?” Flint grimaced.

“Since I made a bet with my girlfriend that her pussy will be the only meat I eat this month,” Eleanor replied in exasperated tones. “Now I’m gonna have to eat Dooley and Madi will never trust me again!”

Thomas crossed the deck to them, both hands in front of him, palms up. "It must have been that huge wave. I saw it start to slide and I tried to catch it, but...." He looked over his shoulder at the sadly bobbing object. "Although... it does seem to still be floating."

Eleanor fixed Flint with a stare. “If only there was someone on board who could rescue it,” she squeezed through her teeth. “I’m so hangry.”

Flint too was hangry. Possibly why it had taken him such a long time to realize she had been talking about _him_. "The yacht's too big to maneuver for that kind of pickup."

"I think I saw a dinghy on the upper deck," Thomas suggested. "Perhaps you could take Mr. Silver out to get it? I'd love to assist but... I might get my suit wet, you understand. And the dinghy is small."

Thomas's winning smile seemed increasingly nefarious. Flint briefly considered calling him on his shit, but the food was getting farther and farther away. He sighed, then drew a deep breath.

"Skipper, launch the life raft! Mr. Silver, you're with me. We have a fucking rescue mission to attend to." Starting towards the bow, he shot Eleanor a look over his shoulder. "And don't you dare say anything about this being good TV!"

Fortunately the crew of the yacht proved to be far more capable than the crew of the show. In moments, he was pulling the dinghy through the water in long, even strokes, staring up into the sun-kissed face of John Silver where he crouched at the bow.

"To the left," Silver said, lifting a hand to shield those pretty blue eyes from the sun. "It's still floating. Um… sorry my left, not your left.” Flint briefly contemplated smacking Silver with one of the oars, but… Sadly, he was too pretty. And he had to admit, this was a vast improvement over Joshua's beard scales and Dooley’s ass hooks.

"There!" Silver moved to the side of the dinghy, leaning out over the inflated gunwale and straining towards the bobbing plastic. His fingers brushed the lid, but failed to find purchase. "Fuck, it's almost...."

Flint freed one of the oars from the oar lock, bracing one foot against the other side of the dinghy to keep the tiny vessel's balance. "Here, I think I can push it towards you." The edge of the oar blade scraped across the top of the bobbing cooler, urging it closer.

Then, as if in slow motion, a sea swell caught the dinghy. Flint watched Silver strain towards the cooler, leaning farther over the inflated side, and the boat began to tip -

Flint was well enough accustomed to balancing a small vessel. What he wasn't accustomed to was watching the beautiful man in front of him slide over the side completely and into the water with a loud flop and an undignified squawk before Flint had a chance to so much as grab for him.

"Oh hell." For a split second the instinct to dive in after him nearly overrode common sense. Then Flint leaned over the side, bracing himself against the far edge of the dinghy. "Grab the oar, I'll haul you back in!"

Silver, surfacing, spluttered. The glorious curls of his hair hung in his eyes like limp seaweed. "It's fucking salty!"

"It's the ocean? Come on, I'll get you out!"

Silver pushed his hair back from his eyes, blinking and blowing sea water from his nose. "God, that stings! Oh hey, the lunch!" Ignoring Flint, he backstroked towards the retreating cooler, grabbing hold of one of the handles with a triumphant noise. Better at swimming than staying in the boat, Flint noted as he watched Silver haul it back. Getting the cooler, then Silver, back into the dinghy was a completely different issue however, somehow culminating in losing one of the oars completely as he tried to haul the man in and inadvertently grabbed a handful of what proved to be a very firm ass.

Dripping, Silver collapsed back into the boat, catching his breath and wringing out his hair, yet leaving his sodden shoes on like a fucking freak. "Thank you," he said, then looked for the other oar. "Uh... now what? We paddle this thing like a canoe?"

"Now we hope someone's paying enough attention to rescue us," Flint grumbled, turning his attention back to the yacht. Two different camera crews were pointed in their direction, stretching the boom mics out over the open ocean in an overly optimistic attempt to eavesdrop as the distance between the yacht and the dinghy grew with each swell of the sea. Flint made a beckoning motion, then repeated it when nobody moved. Finally he held up the one remaining oar with a flourish, doing his best Vanna White impression, then sinking back onto the bench with a sigh of relief as someone finally ran off to get the captain.

A few moments later he heard the faint sound of a megaphone. "Stay where you are. We're coming to get you."

"Don't really have much of an option," Silver noted, then turned his gaze to the cooler. "... Think they'll mind if we start without them?"

"I really don't think they have a choice at this point," Flint replied, popping the lid on the cooler with a smirk. The inside, thankfully, still appeared completely dry, filled with individually wrapped subs, boxed salads, and jars of extra condiments and banana peppers. One sub had a large piece of tape around it with Eleanor's name in block letters. Flint chuckled. “I’m vindictive enough to consider the vegan meal.”

“Oh,” Silver laughed, wet curls shaking in the air, “You _are_ evil.”

“I prefer slightly amoral,” Flint shrugged as he continued to rummage through the cooler. “Salami?” he said, lifting up a wrapped sandwich. “Eggplant?” He frowned at another package. “Do you think all of these are dick euphemisms?”

“No, but I’m liking where your mind’s at,” Silver said, fingers wrapping around the salami sandwich, his thumb brushing against Flint’s.

Sly boy, Flint thought, letting the touch linger. He watched as Silver's gaze flicked up to his, smile widening slightly. "... Aren't you hungry, Captain?"

"Famished," Flint murmured, watching the tip of Silver's tongue dart out to wet his lips. "You know... when you didn't come out to the hot tub the other night, I thought you might not be as interested as the other guys. I hope I was wrong about that."

"I think you'll find there's a lot about me that will surprise you," Silver replied, and let his index finger trace up Flint's forearm as he pulled his own sub from the cooler, leaning back against the hull to eat.

“This is nice,” Flint muttered with his mouth full in a way that made it difficult to interpret whether he meant the sandwich or the company. “No cameras, no hosts, no fucking long stemmed roses.”

“Just two dudes in a boat eating salami?” Silver stretched alluringly, one of his soggy shoes poking Flint’s knee. The bottom of his wet t-shirt rolled up just enough to expose a flash of a hip bone and Flint swallowed.

“Listen,” he started, uncertain how to proceed. He only had a few more minutes before the yacht and the mike booms would be upon them. “If I offered you one of the keys, would you…?”

“Think any worse of you? Nah.” Silver winked.

Flint chuckled despite himself. He glanced towards the approaching yacht. He had one of the gross sex keys there in the pocket of his jacket. The prospect of giving it to Silver suddenly made it seem far less gross. "Think we could continue this conversation later, then?"

“You better make sure you remember my name for the Rose Ceremony, in that case,” Silver replied with a shit-eating grin and Flint ruefully looked down at his own sandwich again.

“I deserve that,” he said.

 

 

***

  
**_Joshua’s Confessional:_**

I was planning on impressing Captain Flint with how I wiggle my tackle, but I think the fact that Dooley ended up putting a hook up his ass had made him out of sorts. Then again, he kind of usually seems out of sorts. I’m beginning to think he’s not really the ideal mate for a playful soul like myself. Still, money makes up for a lot of personality defects. And Flint’s loaded.

**_Dooley’s Confessional:_ **

I didn’t try to hook his ass on _purpose_! It really was because I just suck at fishing. I am not some devious mastermind, okay? Although, I was kinda hoping he’d at least remember my name this time. He’s a really good looking man, you know? And I'm fairly shallow.

**_Joji’s Confessional:_ **

*footage of Joji sharpening a katana*

Eleanor’s voice: _So, what do think about your chances with James so far?_

*Joji makes the ‘okay’ sign with one hand and continues to sharpen a katana*

**_Utley’s Confessional:_ **

I was genuinely out of my mind with hunger most of that day, and I may have had sun stroke. I can’t even remember what happened. Did James and I speak?

*sounds of shuffling notes followed by Eleanor’s voice* _Nope… And how does that make you feel?_

*shrugs* Still pretty gay.

**_Thomas’ Confessional:_ **

Did I push that cooler into the ocean on purpose? *takes a sip of his martini* Would I have done such a thing? *eats an olive* Abso-fucking-lutely!

**_Silver’s Confessional:_ **

I was definitely a little nervous when Flint invited me to go get that cooler with him. I was pretty sure he just did it because the dinghy would’ve been too small to fit any of the other guys who are still on the show. And I’m not a huge fan of the ocean, it's just so big and wet! So when I fell in I thought I’d just about die of embarrassment if I didn't actually drown. But… *grins like the cat who got the cream* We had a nice a chat after and… *whispers conspiratorially* I got a key.

**_Flint’s Confessional:_ **

Who told you about the key? Silver himself? Are there cameras in that private room too?

Eleanor’s voice: _Yeah, but it’s just an overhead cam and they don’t pick up sound._

Well, what a fucking relief!

*flips a chair*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll try to update this as soon as we can but with the holidays and SFHC coming up, we may not get to a weekly update. If we don't talk to you before then: happy holidays! <3


	4. The First Key

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The competition intensifies!

Flint did feel a touch guilty, watching Joshua's face fall when he gave the last rose to J... Dooley. But this was a competition, and he couldn't have Eleanor freaking out about contestants giving themselves salmonella. (And he felt even _more_ guilty about the whole… “Jooley” incident to send _that_ poor man home.)

Fortunately, whatever guilt he may have felt, was soon replaced with shivers of anticipation. He had given Silver the first key, and the man had accepted it, seemingly with some amount of pleasure (and no visible smugness, though Lord Thomas Hamilton had shown plenty himself). Flint took his leave of the Rose Ceremony as soon as he could, showering and changing to get ready for his visitor and all the while remembering how the taut, firm globes of Silver’s ass had felt under his hands.

The room that the show had designated for private encounters was located in the residence that Flint had been occupying for the duration of this public humiliation. And the first thing Flint did once he got inside was scan it for bugs and cameras with military precision. There was probably something in his contract that prohibited this, Flint figured, as he put one of his socks over the camera that was demurely located in the corner, overlooking the bed. But Flint would just have to apologize and pay a fine, or whatever. He wasn’t going to pull a Paris Hilton in his 40s, for fuck’s sakes.

Then he straightened the room again and forced himself to sit on the bench at the end of the bed to keep from pacing.

Finally Flint heard the soft click of the lock, and quickly brushed his hands through his hair. He hadn’t exactly been turning on the charm with Silver before they ended up hunting for runaway sandwiches together. He got to cop an unintentional feel on the boat, but that certainly was no guarantee for eventual chemistry now that the key has been turned in the literal and proverbial lock. (Was there even such a thing as a proverbial lock? Flint was spiralling.)

 _Pretty_ , was Flint’s first incoherent thought. And, in fairness, Silver was wearing one of his patented V-necks that clung to his pecs and plunged down practically to his navel. His little nipples poked out through the thin, practically sheer material like two missiles aimed at the last shreds of Flint’s self-control. Flint didn’t even have to stare very hard to see that they were pierced. _Lick_ , was therefore Flint’s second incoherent thought.

“Hey there, Captain,” Silver broke what was becoming a slightly uncomfortable silence.

Flint cleared his throat. “Glad you could make it,” he said, quickly turning to the bucket of ice where the producers had arranged for a bottle of (what he was hoping would be good) champagne. “Drink?”

“Uh… yeah…” Silver replied, taking in the room, his eyes lingering on the sock perched like a used condom over the overhead camera. “I see you arranged for us to have some real privacy,” he said. A soft blush crept up his gloriously exposed chest and onto his neck.

 _Bite_ , Flint’s brain provided helpfully. He managed to catch himself moments before leaning in for an awkward Bela Lugosi, and busied himself with popping the cork on the champagne. The vintage proved to be entirely too sweet, but he still filled both glasses, hoping the carbonation would go to the right head.

“It’s not very good,” he said apologetically handing Silver his glass.

“You have very exacting standards,” Silver laughed, taking a small sip.

“I’m not very good at this,” Flint blurted out.

“Then how did you get onto this show?” Silver asked, plopping unceremoniously onto the king sized bed.

“Nepotism,” Flint shrugged.

“So, what, are you just kinda used to ordering your men around?” Silver raised an eyebrow. “Captain?” he added coyly.

“Why? Are you into that… Sailor?” Flint patted himself on the back for his quick thinking. He followed that quick thinking with even quicker drinking, swallowing the remnants of his glass and examining the bottom of his empty champagne flute with a forlorn gaze.

“I could be,” Silver admitted.

Flint eyed the bottle again then Silver’s face and bravely lowered himself onto the bed, setting his glass aside.

“I’m glad you showed up,” he started again. “I mean… I’m happy you’re on this show.” This was a struggle. “I mean… That we have this chance to…”

Silver’s hand rose and his long fingers carded through Flint’s hair, settling comfortably on the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I’m glad too,” Silver spoke so quietly that Flint could not help but lean closer to better hear him.

“I meant to say… Thank you… for opening that door…”

Silver was kissing him. Silver was kissing him! Which was incredible for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was that he may have been doing it just to shut Flint up (and who would blame him?). At least this part was pretty self-explanatory and did not require superior brain function. Flint pressed back, opening into the kiss, his tongue sliding along Silver’s in a warm invitation for more.

Flint’s hand slid with slow determination down Silver’s back, settling over the tantalizing curve of that ass that he so admired during his water rescue. Silver emitted only a soft moan of approbation, his mouth sliding along Flint’s unshaven jaw, teeth beginning to worry at the ligaments of his neck.

“You smell good,” Silver purred into Flint’s ear. That was all the invitation Flint needed to immediately begin undoing the buckle on Silver’s belt. “Woah… hey…” Silver’s fingers curled gently over Flint’s wrist. “Aren’t there like… cameras?”

“I covered it up, remember?” Flint nodded in the direction of the safety sock. He bit and licked his lower lip, unable to stop himself from salivating. It’s been so long since he’s had a proper chunk of man meat in his mouth.

“Right… Clever boy,” Silver grinned, distracting Flint by suddenly pulling his shirt over his head. And there they were: the tiny brown nubs, adorned with the tasteful barbells. Flint was going to suck on _something_ that night, and every part of Silver was just so _there_ and asking for a devouring.

A helpless kean escaped Flint’s throat as he lunged back in, attacking Silver’s long neck with his lips and teeth, licking across his prominent collarbones, kissing and biting a trail down his chest until his mouth closed around one of those perky nipples. Silver bucked up, one leg wrapping tightly around Flint’s hips.

“I see what you lack in the conversational department you make up for in zeal,” Silver tittered, one arm thrown across his eyes. He looked so beautiful like this, all flushed and disrobed, and Flint’s for the taking.

Flint was beginning to forgive Eleanor for the ritualistic torture she had saddled him with. Just a few more minutes with Silver’s left nipple, and Flint would have officially changed his will to leave her everything he owned. But then, a loud knock on the door of his secret chamber crashed over him as if an ice bucket had been dumped into his swollen lap.

“Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Flint!” he heard, just as someone who obviously didn’t value their life forced open the door. “Something’s wrong with the camera, we need to replace it.”

He and Silver drew apart, panting, eyes wild with cock-blocked arousal.

“Mr. Featherstone, you have impeccable timing!” Flint growled at Eleanor’s flunky. The room was full of people in black shirts. It was inconceivable that it would even take this many men to change one camera (or rather, remove the sock from the perfectly functional one that had been there in the first place).

Flint rose from the bed, buoyed by the hope the more alcohol would somehow salvage the situation. In a flurry of bodies, someone dared to spray something on his hair and brush his face with what he only hoped was powder and not some fucking glitter. Silver’s shirt still lay abandoned on the floor next to the king sized bed when he turned around, hands busy holding the refilled glasses of champagne. Silver, however, wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

As Flint ushered the crew out of the room (admittedly more forcefully than he probably should have), he took a moment to study his surroundings. Surely, Silver must have just been freshening up in the bathroom. Flint put the champagne down and strode bravely towards the closed door of the en-suite facilities. But before he even finished turning on the light, he no longer had any hope of finding Silver there. Like some exotic dancer version of Cinderella, the only thing he had left behind was his shirt, disappearing into the midnight air.

 

***

It was hard for Flint not to go into the next date as a salty asshole after Silver's disappearance. He'd spent too much of the previous night lying awake, going over too many reasons why Silver might have left in his mind. Had he pushed too much intimacy too fast? Why the hell had Silver accepted the key if not for that reason?

He's been tempted to just glower his way through the day until the rose ceremony, but unexpectedly walked into the studio to find himself face to face with... a wall of colourful dildos.

Flint stopped short, staring. He fixed his tie and reached out blindly, groping the air around him for the closest source of moral support. “Ellie!” he hissed, grasping Eleanor by the arm. “What is happening!”

"All of our art supplies for today have been generously donated by this episode's sponsor, Clone-A-Willy," she said smoothly towards the ever-rolling cameras.

"The fuck?" Flint felt cold, then much, much warmer. "Isn't this prime-time TV?" he hissed. "How the hell are we making... making...."

"Art," Eleanor replied, smiling sunnily, though Flint could see the self-satisfied glint in her eye. "Come see what the contestants are up to."

Flint had thought that watching Joshua bite into a living fish was the most surreal thing that could happen on reality TV. Following Eleanor past the cameras to the... Art Room... he quickly realized his error in judgement. None of the contestants seemed any more comfortable with the situation than he was, blessedly, and were up to their elbows in paint and plaster while trying to make the best of suddenly being shoved into a Color Me Mine shop where the only ceramics available were overwhelmingly phallic.

"Are these," he started to ask Eleanor, feeling somewhat lightheaded, "their own…?"

"Absolutely," she replied cheerfully. "Each contestant was given a generously donated kit this morning and left to their own devices for the cloning. The winner will get an automatic rose. You're to pick based solely on artistic merit, of course."

"Of course," Flint replied, mouth going dry. He looked towards Silver's station before he could stop himself. Part of him hoped he could catch Silver's eye, but the pretty young man was completely focused on his work, the tip of his tongue just visible between his lips as he detailed the ceramic phallus in front of him to look like a space rocket. Unbidden, Flint's eyes went to the sculpture, and he swallowed on reflex. Jesus, was that what he'd missed out on the night before? Silver certainly had large... hands. He forced himself to turn away.

Talking to the contestants while an erect model of their dick stood between them was far more than anyone could ever be expected to do, so Flint turned on his heel for the Craft service table, thanking the gods that he'd insisted it be stocked with alcohol. Given the choice between Jack Daniels and lite beer he poured one into the other and spent the next thirty minutes spitting brand names like a Tourette's sufferer every time a camera dared to come near him so as to render the footage unusable.

Utley was giving him sympathetic looks, now and then letting Flint take a sip from what was apparently his own contraband flask of whiskey. “Tommy Hilfiger!” Flint pronounced loudly as he took Utley’s… um… artwork into his hands to examine it. It was just the right size. And it was demurely painted an angelic ecru. Flint blushed, took another swig, and moved on.

At least it was easy to choose the winner, he thought as he drunkenly walked along the judging table. And the loser. Poor Dooley had clearly cloned a paper towel roll instead of his actual dick from the look of it, and painted the entire thing to look like a gherkin, the glistening, still wet paint dripping sadly down the shaft.

Lord Thomas Hamilton, on the other hand, clearly had the largest and most intricately decorated Christmas Tree on the lot. (Not completely a surprise, after those form-fitting pants.) It made Flint think about the second key, heavy in the pocket of his slacks. But presenting a sex key to a Lord over top of a model of his very large cock was just far, far too uncouth for even the most disreputable of gay men.

Trying not to think about the fact that Silver _still_ wouldn't meet his gaze, Flint wordlessly shoved a rose at Thomas across the table, then fled the set to get completely shit-faced before the ceremony.

 

***

Eleanor blinked twice, sighed, and dumped the remnants of the contents of her glass over Flint’s sleeping face. The sputtering, bellicose awakening nearly cost her an eye, but it had been worth it. Her gay dad was _ruining_ \- absolutely ruining!!! - what was left of her career and she wasn’t about to let him get away with it that easily.

“Hey, remember when I threatened to tell everyone about _the incident_?!” she shouted into Flint’s blurry and slightly drunk face. “Starting to think it would make better TV than whatever the fuck _this_ is,” she pointed at Flint’s slumped body. He seemed defeated and she almost - _almost_ \- felt sorry for him. “Pull your fucking shit together, pops! You’re surrounded by hunks! Some of them are hung! What more do you even _want_ out of life?”

Flint let out a violent hiccup and rummaged in his pocket with a look of consternation. “Hang on,” he lifted a finger, which wobbled tipsily before Eleanor’s angry face. After a few more moments of hopeless rummaging, Flint pulled something out of his pocket, dissolved into a wolfish grin and pressed a piece of cold metal into Eleanor’s palm. “Could you…” - another hiccup - “Could you…. Uh… please pass this on to Lord Hamilton for me?”

Eleanor looked at her hand. “You want me to give Thomas Hamilton a sex key for you? What are you, twelve?”

Flint snorted and face-planted into a pile of decorative pillows. Eleanor shook her head. If she had to start sleeping with these guys herself, in Flint’s stead, perhaps she had better go shave her fucking legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We apologize for the delayed update but we were busy getting engaged (and then sick)! Now we're back and more unified than ever ;). Stay tuned for a quicker update!


	5. The Second Key

The thought of Eleanor delivering the key was enough motivation for Flint to get himself halfway sober and washed before the Rose Ceremony. From the look Thomas gave him from the back row, she'd certainly kept her word, and Flint gave out the remaining roses like a good little reality TV monkey - sending home the stoic Mr. Joji (who truly didn’t deserve to go, but Flint’s guilt about Dooley still had the hooks in him). Then he returned to his suite with a spring in his step.

He set a chair below the ceiling camera, but hung a dress sock over the back - no need drawing the crew's attention until it was absolutely necessary. Then he mixed what he hoped was a pair of passible martinis and nervously awaited Thomas’ arrival.

"Darling." Thomas smiled at him warmly as he stepped into the room, sliding into Flint's arms as he rose to meet him and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Let's have a drink? It seemed like a trying day for you."

"Thank you!" Flint picked up the first of the martinis and took a large swallow. "Finally someone sees that this is my own personal hell!"

“Oh, tell me about it!” Thomas declaimed dramatically as he divested himself of his blazer and sprawled on top of the duvet. “If it was my job to choose from a bevy of such fine man meat and,” he gasped theatrically, “ _send someone home_ after each date! Why I just don’t know how you don’t buckle under the pressure!”

Flint scratched the back of his head. Clearly, Lord Hamilton didn’t understand him as well as he’d hoped.

“That good old Joji,” Thomas went on with a chef’s kiss. “Delectable! Great kisser!”

Flint gave a regretful grunt. "And so attractively stoic. Wait, how do you - "

"Just test-running them for you, darling, no need to worry."

“Errr…”

“It’s something my ex-wife and I used to do regularly during our marriage. Sharing is caring, darling. Now, is there anyone else you'd like advice on?”

Flint twitched.

“I know you had a go last night with Mr. Silver,” Thomas grinned with all his teeth. “So I presume you’ve got that base all covered. Adorable little package. Was it everything I’ve dreamt of and more?”

“Umf,” Flint twitched harder.

“Are you one of those good boys who doesn’t kiss and tell?” Thomas asked, his foot stretching out languidly to run up the inseam of Flint’s thigh.

Flint put down his drink and belly-flopped onto the bed next to Thomas with a deep sigh.

“Things were going so well,” Flint started and then buried his face in one of the pillows in shame. “He had the most perfect nipples. Do you suppose he didn't like it? He certainly seemed to like it. Then the fucking crew barged in to take the sock off the camera and the next thing I knew he'd disappeared!"

“He _does_ have the most perfect nipples,” Thomas intoned dreamily. “Wait… _what_???”

"He _left_ ," Flint growled into the pillow. "And I still have blue balls, thank you very much."

“What… _left_! Didn’t you say there were nipples?” Thomas sat up and attempted to extricate Flint from the pillow.

Flint found himself hanging limply from Thomas’ grasp. "Nipples. Pierced nipples. Just begging to be sucked on. Should I be insulted? He wouldn't even _look_ at me today. Embarrassing plaster penii notwithstanding."

“Whatever did you do or say to him?” Thomas pressed. And then _pressed_ more, the heel of his hand finding Flint’s limp crotch. “Were you having this problem last night too? You know, it happens to more men our age than you think.”

"I'll have you know I have no problems in that particular department," Flint growled. "We hadn't even gotten to below the belt yet! And I was hard as the rock of fucking Gibraltar!"

“Did you say something rude to him? You have a habit, you know. Did you insult his height?” All prior flirtiness had abandoned Thomas entirely. He had become focused solely on the problem at hand, which was Silver’s inexplicable exit stage left.

"I was too busy sucking on his nipples to say anything!" Flint protested. "You would have thought he'd at least have stuck around to let me suck on other things!"

“How could he deprive you so cruelly!” Thomas exclaimed. “In my conversations with him, he sounded nothing but good, giving, and game. He’s _into_ you!” Thomas slid off the bed. “This doesn’t make any sense!”

“You’re telling me,” Flint mumbled, blushing in shame.

“I’ve got to get to the bottom of this,” Thomas said with resolve.

“Wait… what?”

“There must be more to this situation than meets the eye.”

“I know, but… What… what are you doing?” Flint rubbed his eyes as Thomas deftly put his shoes and his blazer back on.

“You still like him, right?” Thomas asked.

“Of course, but…”

“Well, that settles it then!” 

And with these mysterious words, Lord Hamilton slipped out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

With a sigh of resignation, Flint looked down, in the direction of his abandoned cock. “Well, looks like it’s just you and me again tonight, buddy,” he said.

***

Curled up in the corner of the back deck on a wicker chair, Silver sipped from his mug of hot chocolate and looked out into the gardens. His thoughts wandered to when Billy and Ben had made out in the rose garden and then left, which was strangely becoming a more and more attractive prospect as time went on. The leaving, not the strange sex acts involving Camembert.

What _was_ he doing here, anyway? Anne and Max had made it all sound so simple. Go on TV, gain a bit of screen time for his demo reel, and maybe end up with a hot sugar daddy if he was really lucky? Well, ending up with Flint was quickly becoming less and less likely. And what kind of reputation was he going to make for himself in a competition that made them paint fucking dildos?

"Hello, darling."

As Lord Thomas-fucking-Hamilton dropped onto the wicker loveseat beside him Silver clutched his mug tighter, a mess of conflicting feelings rising up in him. Of course Thomas was hot - fucking Thomas with his sexy goddamn accent and his tight pants and his clearly massive cock - and part of him wished that life were simpler and that Thomas would just kidnap him away from this whole mess so he wouldn't have to think about Flint anymore.

The other half of him just wanted to be alone with his misery.

“Nice night for a night cap,” Thomas said, producing one of his martini glasses out of the thin air like some kind of a boozy magician.

He smelled good, Silver noted. Of course, Thomas always smelled good: a heady combination of expensive cologne and tall man’s confidence. He probably smelled _extra_ good having just come from Flint’s bed, Silver suspected ruefully.

"I guess," he muttered, taking a sip of his drink. Then, before he could stop himself, "Surprised Flint didn't last longer."

Thomas fixed him with a steady, probing gaze. “How long did he last with you, honey?”

Silver bit his lower lip.

“Not all of us can be blessed with a young man’s stamina, you know,” Thomas said with a wicked glint in his eye. “Besides, I’m really much more about the quality of time than the quantity, aren’t you?”

Silver let out a non-committal grunt through his nostrils. Thoughts of Flint and Thomas together forced their way into his mind like a bunch of unwelcome and rowdy guests. The memory of Flint’s hands and lips on his skin cut through the haze like a blade, and Silver chewed his lips harder and swallowed around the lump of bitterness that settled in his throat.

He wanted to be mad at Flint for inviting Thomas to his bed so immediately after their brief time together. He ought to be mad at Thomas for accepting and then coming here to gloat about being where Silver so badly wanted to be. But no matter how hard he tried he couldn't continue to lie to himself - the only person he had to blame was sitting in his own chair.

Tears burned at his eyes, and he clenched them tight quickly and hid his face in his mug, wishing that Thomas would just leave him alone to his dejection. Instead, he found Thomas reaching over and taking his hand.

“All right, kitten, out with it. Tell daddy what’s wrong.”

“Nothing,” Silver muttered, not withdrawing his hand from Thomas’ warm grip. “It’s a fucking game show. He’s supposed to go through all of us and pick one, right? May the best man win.”

Thomas’ thumb pressed against the pulse point of Silver’s wrist. “And that isn’t you because…?” he asked in warm whisper.

Silver swallowed. “What makes you think I don’t think it’s me?”

“Oh, come now, John,” Thomas smiled at Silver with an all-knowing smile that despite its source did not feel like a mockery. “I know you didn’t spend the night with Flint. I know you left his bed before anything X-rated happened. What I don’t know is… _why_?”

Silver looked around the garden, trying to ascertain whether camera crews were hiding in the bushes (they probably were). Thomas’ hand was warm, his soft gaze reassuring. Nevertheless, he _was_ the competition. But Silver didn’t really give a shit about the competition anymore. Did he?

“Look, I…” Silver steeled himself. “I didn’t really think I’d ever get this far. And the thing is… If I had… If Flint and I… Well, he’s not gonna want me anymore.”

“Darling, what are you _talking_ about?” Thomas pressed. “He wants you! Trust me, he wants you. We didn’t even get around to fucking because he couldn’t stop talking about how much he wants you!” He paused. “Granted, I encouraged him.”

“You encouraged him?”

“He was so tense!”

“And you couldn’t think of any better way to relax him?” 

“Don’t change the subject!” Thomas frowned. The grip on Silver’s hand tightened. “Tell me the truth, John. What’s going on with you that would make you think Flint might not want you?”

Frustrated, Silver pushed against the ground with his legs and winced. "You don't want to know either. Nobody actually wants to know. People say they don't care, but they look at you differently once they know. I don't want him to look at me that way!"

“Look at you _how_?”

“Like this!” Silver exploded as he leaned down and pulled up the pant-leg over his left calf, exposing the metal gleam of his prosthetic to Thomas’ gaze.

Thomas let go of his hand and placed the martini glass on the ground. “Oh, my sweet boy,” he whispered. “How long have you had this?”

“Long enough to learn how best to hide it,” Silver replied defiantly.

Thomas moved, lowering himself from the wicker chair and onto his knees. His hand slid carefully down Silver’s thigh and brushed along the chrome of the prosthetic and then back up, settling warmly on his knee.

“Listen to me,” he said, fingers squeezing into the flesh of Silver’s thighs. “You are beautiful, John Silver. And if Flint is bothered by any aspect of your beauty, then he doesn’t deserve you.” Silver was about to protest when Thomas leaned in and brushed his mouth along the seam of his lips in a soft caress. “But you should at least give him a chance to get to know you before you write him off for the asshole he may or may not be.”

Silver pulled back, looking into Thomas’ darkened gaze. “Or… You and I can just run off together like those cheese-deviants and forget Flint?”

“We could,” Thomas said, his head cocked contemplatively to the side. “But where would the fun in that be, little darling?”

“Hey!”

“That’s not what I mean,” Thomas laughed and leaned in again to press a kiss against the corner of Silver’s pout. “But if you play your cards right, and follow my lead, we can all end up getting everything we want from this experience.”

“And what’s that?” Silver asked the sly fox.

Thomas laughed. “Why, I’m just in it for the roses, of course!”

***

What a delightfully complicated undertaking this was proving to be, Thomas thought to himself as he made his way back to Flint's room, the sex key still jingling reassuringly in his pocket. He'd had half a mind to make Flint wait a little longer while he properly tucked Silver into bed, but the pretty young thing still needed to be properly motivated to get into bed with Flint, which unfortunately meant that he should probably keep the poor dear properly frustrated.

In any case, he could certainly utilize the key for its intended purpose to relieve his _own_ frustrations.

Upon pushing open Flint's door again he sadly discovered it was not to be. Both martini glasses scattered empty on one side of the bed, Flint snoozed softly on the other half. He was still fully clothed - well, mostly - slacks undone and flaccid cock in hand.

For a brief moment Thomas contemplated waking him in fun and interesting ways. Then he glanced to the camera in the corner, and Flint's sadly abandoned sock on the back of the chair under it. Picking up the throw blanket at the front of the bed, he gently tucked it around Flint's slumbering form and put the martini glasses safely away.

“James Flint,” Thomas muttered, twirling the key in his hand, “What am I going to do with you?”

The answer was surely a project for another day. He lay the key on the corner table next to Flint’s head and quietly let the door lock behind him.

***

Alone in her room, Eleanor turned off the footage from the mounted tree cameras in the garden and took a contemplative sip of her vodka and tonic.

“Finally!” she toasted the air. “This is getting to be properly good TV!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully that was satisfying (if not for Flint or Thomas per se)! Please let us know if you're enjoying this :D


	6. The Third Key

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Flint EVER actually get laid?

**_Dooley’s Confessional_ **

I can’t believe I made it to the top four! When this whole thing started, I was pretty sure the Captain didn’t even know my name. It’s really weird because we hardly ever talk, but you don’t have to talk if you got… you know… that _thing_.

Eleanor’s voice: _What thing?_

That chemistry thing! Yeah, man. Unstoppable chemistry.

**_Utley’s Confessional_ **

How do I feel about being in the top four? To be honest, I’m not super surprised. James and I have had a connection from the start. We actually have quite a bit in common. You know why else I like my chances? James still has one more key to give away and Dooley ain’t getting it, if you catch my drift.

**_Silver’s Confessional_ **

Eleanor’s voice: _What’s your strategy for closing the deal with James?_

*Silver fidgets* Well, I think, you know, in all relationships communication is key.

Eleanor’s voice: _Is there something you feel that you should communicate to him?_

*Silver stares into the camera like a deer in the headlights*

**_Thomas’ Confessional_ **

I'll admit, when I came into this competition there was a certain appeal to the idea of having my way with as many of these luscious men as I could. Technically _everyone_ was a bachelor. But there was something so undeniably precious about that young curly haired man, I just couldn't resist the call of the Venerable Gay Art of Meddling. I do really hope he heeds my advice. He'd look so very pretty spitroasted between Flint and myself.

Eleanor’s voice: _I beg your pardon?_

*Thomas sips his martini* Bitch, did I stutter?

**_Flint’s Confessional_ **

I'm just so. Tired. Why do they keep walking out on me? Why am I even on this show? I thought the main reason was that my chances of getting laid were really good. But now I’m not so sure.

I guess I do still have one more sex key left. And given the choice between a giant Labradoodle and... well. It's really not that hard of a choice.

Eleanor’s voice: _Which one is the… giant… Labradoodle?_

*Flint rolling his eyes* If you really have to ask, are we even related?

Eleanor’s voice: _We’re not actually related._

 

***

After the degradation of having to create art with a plaster copy of his own dick, Sebastian Utley wouldn't have been surprised by anything the crew had asked him to do. Having to sing karaoke was a walk in the park, comparatively.

Or perhaps the producers had done him a favor, he thought as he punched in the number for "Pony" by Ginuwine, AKA song number 8 on Buzzfeed’s list of "Karaoke songs for people who can't sing but are really good at pelvic thrusts."

Watching Flint's eyes follow him hungrily as he gyrated across the small karaoke stage, Utley knew he'd made a winning choice.

Grabbing two glasses of what was apparently the best whiskey in the bar, Utley made his way over to Flint as the unfortunate opening of "Spice Up Your Life" started playing. Flint winced, clearly recognizing the tune, so Utley smiled and pressed one glass into his hand. "I hear if you drink enough even the most horrible cacophony turns into Beethoven’s Fifth.”

Flint's lip curled as Dooley started to howl. "Or, like Beethoven, you just go deaf."

Determined not to let Dooley's howling ruin Flint's hard-earned approval of his pelvic thrusts, Utley tossed back his whiskey and let his hands rest on Flint's shoulders from behind. "Competition's rough. You should take a load off. Have another drink."

"Mmm." Flint replied, those luscious lips pursing as he regarded the stage. Then he glanced back over his shoulder. "How do you feel about Cinderella?"

The fairy tale? Utley regarded him for a moment, wondering if this was some strange kind of test the producers had insisted on. "Well, it seems like a stupid idea to run away at the stroke of midnight when you have a hot man and are about to be magically naked."

Flint gave a clearly satisfied nod, and the next thing he knew, Utley had a small leather key fob pressed into his hand. He quirked an eyebrow. "Well, if you promise not to pull a Cinderella, I won't pull a Sleeping Beauty."

Utley's lips curled up into a very satisfied smile, and he leaned close to Flint's ear. "You say that like I'd _let_ you fall asleep."

“There’s something to be said for saving the best for last,” Flint all but purred into Utley’s ear.

 

***

Flint had finally sent the Labradooley home during the Rose Ceremony. He could’ve sworn he actually saw a lip quiver. But it wasn’t as if Flint really had a choice. He had to keep Utley because he was his last sure shot at getting any action. And he wasn’t quite ready to let either Lord Hamilton or Silver go, even though he was starting to suspect those two were more interested in each other than they’d ever been in _him_.

He did find it within himself to send Dooley home with a few touching words. “Listen, Dooley… It’s been… real.” He patted the departing man on his shoulder with another thoughtful addition of, “You’ll always have your… height.”

“You really are a bitch,” Eleanor hissed in his ear. Flint would have been offended if he wasn't already thinking about nicer things to come. Much, much nicer things to come, hopefully. ( ~~His dick~~.)

He'd barely had time to pour himself a finger of whiskey back in his room when a light knock came on the door, accompanied by the sound of the clicking lock.

“Would you like a drink, Sebastian?” Flint barely had the time to ask before Utley was all over him, his drink carefully moved to the console, as their teeth clashed together with vigorous kissing.

“Maybe before round two,” Utley groaned out as his mouth moved with determination to Flint’s neck.

“Oh… oh okay…” Flint muttered before letting his hands find the globes of Utley’s ass. _Nice_ , he thought. Perhaps finally just one of the contestants would prove to be exactly what he promised.

“Bed?” Utley asked, pulling Flint’s jumper over his head.

“Yes, please!”

He was, Flint had to admit, rather more forceful than he'd expected after how Utley had conducted himself throughout the course of the competition. But perhaps this is what had truly drawn Flint to him - that promise of passion smoldering under the calm and handsome surface. That, and the promise of a very nice cock, he reminded himself. It might have been something he would have ordinarily been more cautious with, but after striking out an aggravating twice Flint's libido had clearly decided it had something to prove.

Utley was moaning into his skin, kissing and biting with gusto and hunger across his chest and torso. His hand had already found Flint’s bulge and was massaging it through the material of his trousers, sending shocks of excruciating pleasure through his body.

“I need to taste your cock,” Utley breathed against Flint’s pleasure trail.

 _Winning!_ Flint’s brain supplied, as his own hand nearly battled Utley’s across his fly in a hurry to get his bad boy out. "Since you asked so nicely," he managed to reply.

 _God_ that man had a _mouth_ on him! Flint was being held in place by two very steady and powerful hands on his hips while Utley wasted no time taking most of his impressive girth into his eager mouth, a lusty moan sending shocks of pleasure coursing up his spine.

“Shit!” Flint exclaimed. “I forgot the… sock…”

“Mmm?” Utley inquired, mouth still full of cock.

“Whatever, go on,” Flint ordered. A cock in the mouth, he decided, was better than two birds in the bush and Featherstone and his team interrupting again.

Utley didn’t need to be told twice. One hand now gently caressing Flint’s sack, his tongue and throat worked their wicked magic on Flint’s throbbing cock. Flint ran a hand over the velvet of his short-shorn hair to anchor himself, biting his lip on a groan. A younger man might have lost control altogether - especially after his previous nights' frustrations - and as it was it took an effort to hold back. Utley's mouth was bliss, promising pleasure long-denied, and Flint closed his eyes, fingers tightening on the back of Utley's skull.

"There's a lot of things I want to do to you," he managed to gasp. "But right now... right now, fuck... Sebastian, I - fuck - "

Utley's breath was hot against his sensitive skin as he pulled from the head of his cock with a soft pop. He met Flint's gaze, eyes dark and wild in a way that sent a shiver down Flint's spine. "You can come in my mouth," he murmured, rough and throaty, then took Flint in his mouth again with a groan that was nothing short of lurid. That was even better, Flint realized - seeing how much Utley was obviously getting off on this, eager and wanting and willing to stay all goddamn night.

It was Flint's last coherent thought before pleasure overwhelmed him, all the tension and stress of the competition melting away as he spilled thick and hot in Utley's exquisite mouth.

 

***

Thomas had pulled up a wicker chair to the firepit and extended his legs towards the flagstones, the heat of the flames blissfully all but licking at the soles of his shoes. He handed one of the martinis to Silver, who traded an extra blanket over to him, and they settled into a companionable silence.

“Guess it’s just you and me tonight, kitten,” Thomas said half way into his martini.

“You think Flint’s finally getting his dick wet?” Silver asked with a sneer.

“Jealousy isn’t becoming,” Thomas grinned, looking at the other man askance. In the glow from the firepit, Silver looked like a fallen angel, all wild curls and warm flesh. “Have you given our conversation some thought?” he asked.

“I suppose I have nothing to lose,” Silver shrugged.

“Know no shame, darling.”

Silver visibly bristled. “I’m not ashamed,” he mumbled into his drink.

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

“You’re just full of pithy aphorisms tonight.”

Thomas laughed, throwing his head back. “Would you like to fill me up with something else? I thought I made it clear that I was more than interested.” His long arm traversed the space between their wicker chairs and settled softly in Silver’s lap.

Silver’s own hand covered Thomas’, somehow swallowing it up in a grip that was surprisingly large and warm. “You’re hot as fuck, Lord Hamilton,” Silver said with a lopsided grin that warmed the cockles of Thomas’ heart. “But isn’t it kinda… cheating?”

“You never made that man any promises,” Thomas said with a nod towards Flint’s residence.

“I suppose not,” Silver conceded.

“And you deserve to have someone make you feel good, kitten.” Thomas had about twelve ways in mind already in which he was planning on making the kitten purr. “I would be honoured if you were to let me,” he said earnestly, one hand pressed to his heart.

“You’re a smooth ass motherfucker,” Silver said with a soft chuckle.

“Is that a yes?” _Let that be a yes._

Silver looked up towards the stars and swallowed the rest of his drink, making his Adam’s apple bob appealingly in the center of his long neck.

“Those two shouldn’t be the only ones in this compound getting laid tonight,” Silver finally replied. “Hardly seems just.”

Thomas rose from his wicker chair, the blanket falling to the ground, and extended a hand towards Silver. “For justice!” he said.

Silver took his hand. “For justice,” he agreed and rose to his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for... Flint meeting the families of his Top 3 ;)  
> Please let us know if you're still with us! <3


	7. Meet the Family

It wasn't that Flint was _trying_ to avoid spending time with the two men who had spurned his amorous invitations. But when it came to dedicating a whole day to meeting each contestant’s family, well... Utley was just so easy to be around. And easy on the eyes. And... _easy_.

When he finally followed Utley up the walk of the sprawling single family home on the outskirts of Dallas, he began to understand a bit more about the man's easy nature. Utley had been immediately attacked by three screaming pre-teens who attached themselves to various parts of his body, all talking at once.

"Let me at least get inside!" Utley laughed, shaking one free as gently as if he was dislodging a baby koala. "James, this is Simone, Sophie and Shaun."

"Everybody's already inside waiting!" said Simone or Sophie.

"Shiloh's home from college!" the other exclaimed.

"And Samantha brought the twins with her!" said the one who presumably was Shaun.

"These are... nieces and nephews?" Flint asked, suddenly half afraid of the answer.

"Nah, youngest sibs. Come on, I'll introduce you to everyone else."

Somewhere between Selena and Saunders Flint lost count of how many people he'd been introduced to. Surely they couldn't all be siblings? Utley’s parents were very… um… fecund. 

“This is Stefan and Sawyer,” Utley was saying, pointing out two younger men who looked remarkably like twink versions of himself.

“Exactly how many siblings do you…” Flint began to ask when - “Oh god, there’s more…”

"I think Shiloh's still working the BBQ with Sylvester in the back. Come on, let's get some grub. Sometimes I feel like it's survival of the fittest around here." Utley winked, slipping a hand into Flint's and towing him through the kitchen.

Was that eight, or ten? Flint closed his eyes for a moment, and immediately saw Eleanor's face smirking at him. He could hear her taunt already. _Didn't you say you'd always wanted siblings?_

"Not twenty," Flint mumbled.

"Pardon?"

"Uh. Your parents wanted their own football team, huh?"

Instead of answering, Utley whistled down three more members of his clan, quickly introducing the young women as “Sasha, Sabine, and Samantha - but we call her Sam for short.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Sam for short,” Flint muttered. There was no way in hell he would ever remember everyone’s name. “Ladies,” he tipped his fingers to his hair in what he hoped would be a courtly salute.

“My parents are Catholic,” Utley explained which, Flint supposed, would have explained things had they been living in 1715, but such as it was… “Devout,” Utley added.

“My condolences?” Flint asked with a quirked brow.

"Nothing several tables of jello salad can't feed," Utley reassured with a laugh.

Whether or not Utley could sense his discomfort, he seemed entirely unphased, as comfortable and confident as he'd been when Flint had first met him. Whether it was the man's innate state or something forged through 30 years of living in a zoo, Flint wasn't sure. 

“Anyways, I guess statistically they were bound to end up with at least one queer in the family of thirteen siblings, and they just lucked out that it was their first born,” Utley talked while they made their way to the backyard. “So everyone’s had a long time to get used to the fact that they have a big old gay brother.”

“I was beginning to wonder if some of these were yours,” Flint admitted. Utley leaned over and pressed a kiss to his lips with a joyful laugh, and Flint leaned into his touch. It was, admittedly, reassuring.

“I take it you don’t come from a large family yourself.”

“Tiny,” Flint replied. “Strictly nuclear.”

“It’s loud in the beginning,” Utley said, “but you get used to it.”

“And you really never get their names mixed up?” Flint teased.

“And never forget a birthday,” Utley replied with an underlying sense of pride. Flint didn’t deserve him, it occurred to him. “Is this freaking you out?” Utley asked. “It’s freaking you out.”

A camera was pointed right up Flint’s nostrils and he suddenly felt incredibly exposed and indelicately trimmed. He placed a steadying hand on Utley’s firm bicep. “No, come on. I don’t scare that easily.”

“I promise we can make our escape as soon as mom serves dessert. But we can’t leave before dessert because that would be…”

“Barbaric, I know,” Flint finished, pushing the camera out of the way so he could place a soft kiss against Utley’s lips. “I can’t wait to be alone with you though,” he admitted.

“Don’t give me a boner in front of my entire family, that’s playing dirty.”

"Sebastian's got a booooyfriend~" sang someone at the other end of the table.

"And you don't!" Utley shot back without missing a beat, grinning.

Utley made good on his word once the hotel pan of apple crumble and at least half of a 12 Liter tub of vanilla ice cream had been devoured, taking Flint out into the back corner of the yard where a small fire pit sat behind the trees and the second carport. All it had taken was a look to keep any siblings from following them. Flint wished the camera crew could be so easily dismissed.

"Better?" Utley asked with a smile, and Flint nodded, stepping in to the warmth of his body and claiming another kiss from the temptation of his mouth. It felt good, to have Utley in his arms. Strong and secure. Grounding. He tightened one arm around his waist, fingers digging into his side as he nuzzled along his cheek and pressed his face to the velvety fluff of his buzzed hair with a sigh.

"That doesn't sound better," Utley murmured. His fingers stroked gentle circles on the small of Flint's back.

"Just hate this goddamn TV thing," Flint muttered. Then he let his voice grow softer, barely above a whisper as he nuzzled Utley's ear. Soft enough to avoid pickup even from the boom mic? He'd have to hope so. "Listen... I don't know how this whole thing is going to end. They'll want good TV, there's bound to be some manufactured drama or some bullshit. But... I want you. No matter what else happens. Will you trust me?"

"Absolutely," Utley replied, and kissed him again.

***

**  
_Flint’s Confessional_  
**

*lying on his bed, staring up into the ceiling-mounted camera* I really like him. God, I sound like a fucking teenager, but… he’s so _nice_ and thoughtful and uh… He smells nice. He’s definitely husband material. I don’t really see how my next two dates with Thomas and Silver are going to top this. I mean, first of all, they’ve already had their chance and shirked it.

Eleanor’s voice: _You should probably give them a fair chance though… Even though they’re totally fucking each other._

*dreamily* I really like him….. *Flint jolts up and looks at the other camera* _What???_

***

There were a number of things Flint was not expecting as he walked into the Malibu beach house owned by Silver’s two mysterious mothers, but the radiant face of Jack Rackham, resplendent in a Chinese silk robe and enthusiastically waving at them from the lounge chair was definitely at the top of that list.

“What’s he doing here?” Flint turned towards Silver with a flabbergasted expression.

“Oh yeah,” Silver said with a half-shrug, “Anne texted me something about how… They kept him? We might technically be brothers now.”

“Kept him?”

“Yeah, you know, kinda like how they kept me?”

“I thought you were adopted?” Flint asked.

“I was!” Silver grabbed him by the elbow. “Come on, let me introduce you to my moms, all will be explained shortly.”

At the other end of the pool, stretched out on a lounge covered with a luxuriously thick white towel, was a woman so stunning that even Flint's gay eyes had to admit her aesthetic value. Lush curves, bronze skin under a white bikini, and a cascade of thick dark curls almost as compelling as Silver's. She sat up as they approached, pushing her large sunglasses up into her hair to regard them, and generous lips turned up into a smile. "Anne! They're here!"

From inside the garage, Flint heard a crash, followed by a string of profanity so blistering that he was certain they'd have to bleep the footage. "I like her already," he said, and the woman in front of him smiled.

"My Anne has always been the firecracker," she said, standing smoothly and offering a hand to Flint. Her accent sounded somewhere in the vicinity of French... or was it Canadian? "From your hair, perhaps you can understand? I am Max."

Flint might have tried to be offended if she wasn't so goddamn... smooth. He took the offered hand, barely resisting the urge to kiss it like a courtier. "Flint. Captain Flint."

From the garage, a second figure appeared, strands of sweat-clumped red hair escaping from the knot tied at the nape of her neck. She was as rough as Max was refined, hands and white tank top smudged with grease. She looked past Flint to the camera crew, upper lip curling slightly, then ignored them. "So. You here to ask for Silver's hand, yeah?"

"The show hasn't gotten that far yet," Silver said quickly, and Anne's eyes narrowed.

"Why not? He's met you, hasn't he? That's enough. Now it's his turn to tell us why he thinks he's good enough for you."

"We will have plenty of time to talk tonight, yes?" Max caught her wife's hand before Flint had to respond, squeezing gently. "Come inside out of the sun. We can have a drink while the chef finishes preparing our dinner."

“Wait,” Flint stuttered. “These are… your… um… your _mothers_?”

“Yeah,” Silver replied, hands deep in the pocket of his well-worn (in all the right places) jeans. “I was trying to make a quick buck doing some house work around the neighborhood when I was just starting out in LA. I showed up here to trim their hedges, never left.”

“Is that a euphemism for something?” Flint whispered hotly into Silver’s ear.

“Nah, it’s not like that!” Silver protested, offended. “They just like to collect queer strays. And Max is loaded, because her pops is some kind of a mega-mogul in the rap industry. And since she was born out of wedlock and like… doesn’t really have a relationship with him… She’s all about found family.”

“They _legally_ adopted you?”

“They can adopt you too, if you want,” Silver replied with a wink. “But then we can’t ever fuck, ‘cuz that would be incest.”

“How long ago was that?” Flint asked, still utterly bewildered.

“Um… about seven years ago, maybe? They put me through college and everything.”

“You went to college?”

“Woah there…” Silver raised his enormous hands and took a step back. “You best be careful if you’re going to impugn my intelligence in my moms’ house.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Flint replied quickly. “I’m just now realizing how little I know about you. I guess I… I’ve made some presumptions, and I apologize. This is all… very…” He turned around, pointing to the pool and Rackham inexplicably lounging by it. “Unexpected,” he concluded.

It was, Flint reflected, a surprisingly pleasant dinner. Certainly far less overwhelming than the barbeque with the Utley brood, even if it was missing the delectable form of Utley. Silver, in his element, was far more relaxed than Flint had seen him, and as witty a conversationalist as the two women who had... raised? Adopted? Him. Even Jack Rackham was delightfully charming while in the presence of the lesbians he'd apparently been searching for.

He... felt good there, Flint realized halfway through the second bottle of wine. He felt good with Silver, who kept giving Flint little hopeful smiles every time Flint caught his gaze. As Max's personal chef brought on the delightful assortment of cheeses and Anne whipped out a knife to cut open the wax on a bottle of Madeira to end the meal, Flint felt the edge of Silver's foot press against his. Flint glanced over at him again and favored Silver with a smile, returning the caress with his own foot.

He'd thought he knew exactly how to deal with Silver. He'd been so angry when Eleanor had told him about what he and Thomas had been doing behind Flint's back. But it seemed like things weren't going to be so easy after all.

A light weight on Flint’s shoulder and a whisper of curls against his cheek brought him out of his deep thoughts just in time to hear Max purr in his ear, “I do not mean to meddle, and I realize this is a reality TV show, so if you don’t choose our boy in the end, there’s no accounting for taste… but. If you do or say anything at all to hurt him, Anne is going to gouge out at least one of your eyes. And, if you’re lucky, she’ll leave off at that.”

“Mom!” Silver exclaimed with a bright blush.

“She’s right,” Anne nodded from across the table, while pushing the tray of cheese towards Flint in an odd juxtaposition of violence and hospitality. “I’ll cut your dick off.”

“Mom!” Silver turned in horror towards the ginger inferno.

“There’s no need for concern,” Flint replied with cool composure. “I am very fond of your… son, and certainly wouldn’t do anything to purposefully hurt him.”

“I think maybe Captain Flint and I should go for a postprandial walk along the beach?” Silver suggested as he pushed his chair back from the table.

Too bad it's not postcoital, Flint thought, limbs warm from the wine. He bit his tongue though, and followed Silver out the back and down to the beach.

He let himself move close as they walked, resting a hand on the small of Silver's back and trying to ignore the ever-present footfall of the camera crew behind them. "This was nice. Really nice. I didn't expect that it would be... like that."

"No?" There was enough light from the houses nearby and the moon that Flint could easily see the question in Silver's eyes as he looked up at him. "What were you expecting?"

Flint let out a long breath, looking out towards the ocean. He'd half planned to confront Silver in anger, to give the damn cameras the drama they were looking for. But now, being here with Silver... after spending time with Silver....

"I suppose I just wasn't sure whether or not you actually wanted me here," he said finally. “I thought,” he chewed on his lower lip, wondering how best to put this, “I thought that you’d moved on. To bigger, better things.”

Silver stopped, his lips curling up in a tight but clearly amused smile. He wouldn’t meet Flint’s eyes while his right foot drew concentric circles in the sand. “I could say the same thing about you,” Silver finally replied. “That you’d moved on, in either case.”

Seems both of them could play the shade game, Flint thought with amusement. “Well, and here we both are.”

“So it would seem,” Silver nodded.

Finally Flint moved to face him, resting one hand on the back of Silver's neck, stroking gently. "That night... before you left... did I do something wrong?"

Silver looked down, and Flint could feel a tremor run through him. "No," he said softly. "No, you... you were wonderful. I just... didn't want to put you in... I didn't want you to feel obligated to... do anything you didn't want to. Once you knew."

"Once I knew?" Flint rubbed his thumb over the back of Silver’s neck gently, not quite knowing how else to calm him. "Are you secretly a lesbian too?"

Silver gave a soundless laugh under his breath, shaking his head. "No. No, I..." he stopped looking around. "I think I need to show you," he said finally, stepping back and catching Flint's hand, leading him towards a nearby rock formation.

Flint braced himself. If this was going to be an [Old Gregg](https://youtu.be/gCx0NeffRfI?t=47) moment, he needed to face it stoically.

Silver, in the meantime, sat down on one of the rocks and began to ostensibly mess around with his shoes, or his jeans, Flint couldn’t exactly tell in the dark what Silver was doing. Until he heard a strange click and then Silver was holding… the lower part of his leg in his hands, presenting it to Flint like it was some kind of a morbid Christmas present.

“Surprise?” Silver said, his voice giving away a soft tremble.

“Oh.” Flint sat down on the rock next to Silver. “ _This_ is why you ran off?”

“Right, so now you get it,” Silver said, his face visibly tightening even in the darkness.

Flint’s hand was over Silver’s as he took the prosthetic appendage out of his grip before gently setting it down on the sand and moving closer to Silver. “I spent most of my adult life in the Navy,” he said quietly. “You think this is the first time I’ve ever seen an amputee?”

“There’s seeing and then there’s _seeing_ ,” Silver said, his posture still tightly coiled inwards.

Flint let his hand gently land on top of Silver’s thigh, on his injured leg, and carefully asked, “Does it still cause you pain?”

“Sometimes,” Silver admitted. “But mostly I’ve learned to live with it.”

“It’s amazing how much suffering a human body can learn to live with,” Flint said thoughtfully. His fingers squeezed cautiously around Silver’s knee, close to the edges of the stump. “It must be difficult to carry a burden like this by yourself.”

“Well, I’m not entirely by myself,” Silver smiled, nodding back towards the house.

Flint leaned forward, letting his forehead rest against Silver’s. “John,” he whispered.

“Yeah?”

“This isn’t going to make a difference to me,” he said. “If that’s what you were afraid of, I mean. But if you ever need to be carried in a bridal carry, I’m your man.”

Silver gave a soft, surprised laugh, and under his hand Flint felt his form relax somewhat. "Why Captain, is that a proposal?"

Flint found himself suddenly unable to joke, his mouth going dry. Instead he leaned closer, nuzzling a kiss to Silver's earlobe. "I suppose we'll have to wait until the end of the show for that," he murmured, suddenly wishing more than ever that the end was already there.

***

**  
_Flint’s Confessional_  
**

Well, this certainly complicates matters. I was so sure that Utley would be my number one pick, but… Now that I’ve cleared the air with Silver…. Wait, did you _know_?

Eleanor’s voice: _Know what?_

About the leg? That this was why he was being skittish?

Eleanor’s voice: _This isn’t about me or my ratings, let’s keep talking about you and your top three. Where do you think this leaves Lord Hamilton?_

I am starting to suspect Lord Hamilton thinks that _he’s_ the real Bachelor!

***

At least the meeting of Thomas’ family sounded like it would blessedly uncomplicated. Well, to the extent that Thomas said he had no family.

“My parents and I haven’t been on speaking terms in over a decade,” Thomas had explained. “My father had always been a wanker, and after failing to send me first to military school and then attempting to have me institutionalized, we both agreed it would be better if we never spoke or saw each other again.”

“But you still got to keep your money?” Flint asked.

“The money had already been legally mine because it was in a trust that vested to me when I came of age.”

“Oh.”

“So, consequently, the only family I have for you to meet is my ex-wife, Miranda,” Thomas explained with a bounce in his gait as the elevator approached the penthouse in a highrise with a very prominent address in Manhattan.

“She’s the one who convinced you to go on this show?” Flint thought he’d heard Thomas say something like that before.

“Indeed. Miranda and I have always had a very unconventional relationship, and after our very amicable divorce, she remains quite the fixture in my life. If you and I are to get on, you’ll have to pass muster with her.”

Flint laughed as the elevator dinged, announcing their arrival. Thomas gestured him (along with Eleanor and the filming crew) forward with a gallant sweeping of his hand, and Flint stepped into a wide and sun-filled vestibule. Someone had been playing the piano, but the music stopped abruptly as everyone filed into the penthouse. A slender figure with a bleached-blonde, spiky, pixie cut was seated at the piano. At the sound of their footsteps, she rose from the bench and Flint saw her deep, brown eyes, and her face that became illuminated by her smile as if by the sun.

It was then that Flint grabbed Eleanor by the elbow and in a fit of apoplexy screamed, “ELEANOR, YOU PROMISED!!!!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flint is such a ho! The next chapter will reveal another mystery XD  
> Please let us know if you're having a gay ole time!


	8. The Incident

For once, Eleanor was just as flabbergasted as Flint.

“Me??? What’s this gotta do with _me_?”

Flint had fumes coming out of seemingly every orifice. “You promised you wouldn’t ever tell anyone about the _incident_!” he hissed.

Before Eleanor could reply, the woman (the incredibly bodacious and hot woman, mind) was already pulling Thomas into a warm embrace and then giving Eleanor a kiss on both cheeks.

“Lovely to see you! Oh hello,” Miranda’s eyes swept Eleanor’s form. “Do you swing, darling?” And moving deftly onto Flint. “James, darling! Don’t look so aghast! It isn’t as if we’ve never seen each other naked!”

“Oh Jesus Fucking Christ!” Eleanor exclaimed, cogs clicking into place. “This is the woman you fucked because you thought she was a man!”

Flint looked doggedly at the floor, no doubt wishing it to open up and swallow him.

“Only in the beginning, darling,” Miranda said with a wink. “I’m certain by the time James got my three piece suit off, he was very well aware that I wasn’t actually a man.”

“He was really drunk, you know!” Eleanor went on, feeling suddenly protective of her gay disaster of a father figure. “You took advantage of him in a weakened state. With… with… your kicking curves and that mantrap between your legs! And now he’ll never get his gay Gold Star back!”

“Eleanor, for god’s sake!” Flint exploded, pale as a sheet, and shaking like a chihuahua. “The cameras are still rolling.”

“We’ll edit this out,” Eleanor said.

“But… ratings….” Featherstone tried to cut in only to have Eleanor flip him the bird.

“Well, of course I slept with him,” Miranda shrugged shamelessly, making her aforementioned kicking curves bounce pleasantly before Eleanor’s appreciative gaze. _Get a grip_ , Eleanor had to remind herself, _you have Madi!_ “Thomas and I met during a school production of _The Twelfth Night_ and dressing up as each other was always a bit our thing. As was sleeping with the man I thought might be a good fit for my husband. Sadly, when James sobered up, he hightailed out of the room before I had the chance to get his number for Thomas. But this was a few years ago now, surely it’s all water under the bridge.”

“Good Lord!” Flint exclaimed. “Is that why you told him to audition for the show? Because you recognized me?”

“You were quite good in the sack, James, and I figured if you were that good your first time with a woman, imagine what you’d be able to do with a man!” Miranda shrugged.

“I can’t believe this hot bitch took your cherry!” Eleanor elbowed Flint in the ribs. “You never told me she was so _hot_!”

“What difference would it have made?” Flint asked in a panic. “And she didn’t take my cherry, only my Gold Star!”

“Well,” Thomas, who had been leaning against the wall this entire time enjoying himself prodigiously, finally spoke, “I can tell you’re all going to get on swimmingly!”

By the time tea was served, Eleanor noted Flint was actually beginning to enjoy himself, doubtlessly set at ease by her pinky-swearing to delete the footage in which the shameful incident from his past was discussed. He was chatting Miranda up over profiteroles and listening with rapt attention to her espousing the dogma that polyamory was the only way to ensure one’s own happiness and the happiness of one’s partner(s).

“No one person can be all the things to another person, darling,” Miranda was saying as she refreshed Flint’s tea cup. “I’m sure your daughter Ellie understands, she looks like a practicing bisexual.”

“My girlfriend and I are monogamish,” Eleanor said with a deep sigh and her eyes traveling up and down Miranda’s swanlike neck.

“I simply do not envy you having to make these difficult choices in the end,” Miranda continued. “Thomas, is your competition very attractive?”

“Scorching hot, if I’m being honest,” Thomas replied as he sipped his tea with a radiant smile. “Both of them.”

Miranda shook her head with a look of pity. “What a waste it seems!”

“While I’m sure in some respect it is all an awful… waste,” Eleanor cut in, “We have to follow the show’s format. The audience knows what to expect, and they expect James to propose to _one_ contestant at the end of the season.”

“Then there is no doubt in my mind you must choose Thomas,” Miranda said with certainty.

“Darling!” Thomas finally cut in. “I can fight my own battles.”

“He’s highly intelligent, fiercely loyal,” Miranda went on not minding her ex, “he’s made of money, and he’s hung like an elephant. Trust me, I’ve measured.”

Eleanor spat out her tea.

“There’s simply no way anyone else comes close to him. As Maria Callas once said, to have rivals, one must first have equals!” With that, Miranda definitively put her tea cup down and swallowed a profiterole whole.

“It’s sweet of you to quote Callas,” Thomas added with a complacent smirk.

“I…. cannot dispute anything you’ve said,” Flint muttered with growing embarrassment. “In fact, I said something similar to Eleanor when this whole thing started.”

“Well then,” Miranda looked up, meeting Eleanor’s gaze. “Why don’t we girls go make ourselves something stronger than tea in the library, and you two can discuss important life matters amongst yourselves.” Eleanor swallowed hard as Miranda’s arm snaked through her own, “Monogamish, you say?” and Miranda walked her quickly out of the room.

 

 

***

If you were to ask Flint in the beginning of the season, he would’ve put money on eloping with Lord Hamilton, possibly before the show even ended. Not only was Thomas all the things that Miranda said (including the elephantitis), but Flint was also an enormous snob. But now, somehow, he’d found himself desperately charmed by a Texan with a litter of siblings large enough to form a platoon and a lost puppy whose “mothers” were going to murder him if he even looked at the boy the wrong way. He hadn’t lied to either Utley or Silver when he had been with them, his words and actions flowing from a place of unexpected sincerity. But now, left alone with Thomas, he couldn’t remember what it was that had ever distracted him from this tall drink of water in the first place. Except possibly the niggling sense of jealousy.

“So…” Thomas scooted closer to him across the leather couch. “You slept with my ex-wife?”

“I’ve quite enough on my mind without being reminded of that, thank you,” Flint blurted out and reached for the drink Thomas was already handing him. He took an irritated sip. “And you slept with John Silver?”

“Well, _someone_ had to!”

“I was getting there!” Flint whined.

"Of course, and you still will." Thomas laid his free hand on Flint's thigh, his touch halfway between soothing and maddening. "We can talk about it, if you like. Or perhaps instead you could turn that tortured brain of yours off for a little bit?"

Flint twitched with suspicion, one eye fixed on Thomas’ lips, the other homing in on his bulge: it was a gift Flint had, watching two points in space at the same time.

"I'm sorry I didn't come back to your room in time to finish what we'd started," Thomas said, voice lowering into a terribly compelling purr. "As important as our conversation was... I did rather hope to have you all to myself for a short while. Unfortunately, when I returned, you had already… um… checked out for the night, and you were snoring so peacefully, I terribly hated to wake you.”

Flint stirred at that, combing through his memories of the following morning. “Were you the one who tucked me in? I thought it must’ve have been Eleanor or… Featherstone,” he said with a shudder.

"I hope you consider the truth a much more attractive alternative." Thomas's fingers moved in slow circles on his thigh, gradually easing higher. "Since I couldn't be of service to you then... I don't suppose you'd allow me to remove a bit of this tension now?"

"Unh," Flint replied, and leaned in to claim that mouth with his own in lieu of a coherent reply.

The glass in his hand was an infuriating barrier to where he wanted said hand to be; fortunately Thomas seemed to read his mind, tugging it from his fingers as they kissed. Immediately Flint filled his hands with Lord Thomas Hamilton's infuriatingly sexy body, touching the strength of compact muscles under the fine Italian wool of his suit as he licked into Thomas's mouth. Despite how good his tryst with Utley had been, it couldn't alleviate the walking frustration that was _Thomas_. And Flint’s mouth suddenly felt an unsettling dearth of dicks. If he had to dislocate his jaw to get at the monstrosity in the Lord’s expensive pants, well, he’d risked his life for his country before.

Before he could think better of it (or himself), Flint was muttering “Let me have it” into Thomas’ open mouth, while his hand groped for the ever-growing bulge below Thomas’ belt. Flint slid to his knees, settling between Thomas’ accommodating manspread.

“Say please,” Thomas teased. His eyes were laughing but his nimble fingers were already undoing his belt buckle and fly.

“Mmmm, please, my Lord,” Flint whimpered before burying his entire face in the comforting musk of Thomas’ crotch. He dragged his tongue over the thin material of Thomas’ silk boxers (of course the decadent fucker would wear silk boxers), leaving a trail of moisture through which the flared head of the Lord’s cock was painfully visible. He tried to wrap his lips around it through the saliva-slick fabric, his own cock pulsing harder in response to the choked sound of pleasure it pulled from Thomas' mouth.

"Hold on, darling. I'll let you have everything you want," Thomas panted, tugging Flint's head back by his hair so that he could tug the rest of his garments down. Flint gave a low growl of protest, but then Thomas's cock was free, flushed thick and hard and more glorious than he could have anticipated, and... well, he had far better things to do with his mouth than complain.

 

 

***

If Flint had seemed testy and uncomfortable before prior Rose Ceremonies, this time he just looked downright miserable. Eleanor fidgeted on the couch, while Flint paced in front of her like a caged animal.

“Come on, pops, you gotta let me know what you’re thinking because I gotta host this thing,” she goaded him again. Flint wrung his hands, scratched his beard, and pulled at his hair with jittery determination.

“I don’t know what to do, Ellie,” he admitted. “I really like all three of them. Do I really have to send one home?”

“Them’s the breaks,” Eleanor said with a nonchalant shrug. “Look on the bright side: you hated everyone when you first got here, and now you found not one but _three_ guys that you really like! What were the chances, right?”

“But how am I supposed to make a decision like this? What if I pick the wrong guy?”

“Jesus, Flint!” Eleanor rolled her eyes. “You act like this is real life. This is a _re-a-li-ty show_ ,” she enunciated as if Flint was hard of hearing.

“They’re real people, Eleanor! I am a real person!”

“Oh, Christ.” Eleanor saw this would be an all hands on deck kind of a situation. Hating herself only a little bit, she rose from the couch and placed her hands on Flint’s shoulders to stop the pacing. “All right, I’ll help you,” she said, looking pensive. “Well you can’t send Silver home because you haven’t fucked him yet.”

“How…?”

“Be quiet, I’m thinking for you,” she shushed him. “Plus, he’s an amputee and it would look bad. The audience would turn against you. There were certain declarations made. On camera.”

“Oh, Jesus…”

“That means you have to send either Utley or Hamilton home,” Eleanor continued. “Does that make it any easier for you?”

Flint’s mouth hung open, as if he was doing some sort of sexual math in his head. "...the man who sucked my dick and the man whose dick I sucked?"

Eleanor winced slightly. "It will only be strongly alluded to on screen."

"Praise the Baby Jesus." Flint rubbed at his temples, willing away the threatening migraine.

"Look, what I'm trying to say, is..." Eleanor glanced towards the door to Flint's residence, as if to make sure of no eavesdropping camera crew. "Whatever decision you make doesn't have to be permanent, alright? Look at the history of this show. There's been, what, two couples that have stayed together? Compared to how many breakups and contestants changing their minds after the fact? You may not be the most ideal Bachelor but you certainly aren't the worst, by a long shot. Just... let go of whoever won't hate you if you go back to them later, alright?"

Flint thought of Thomas with his brilliant confidence, and Utley, so steadfast and unflappable. And his decision, though harder than ever, finally became clear.

 

 

***

**  
_Utley’s Confessional_  
**

Yeah, honestly, it kinda stings to get this far only to get cut at this point. But what are you gonna do? I wish James all the best. He’s going to have a heck of a time choosing between John Silver and Thomas Hamilton, I can tell you that. *laughs* Although, Thomas asked me for my digits last night, and I… uh… totally gave them to him. *shrugs and picks up his bag* Guess I’ll be seeing you!

**_Silver’s Confessional_ **

Well, I genuinely cannot believe I’m still here. I thought for sure after my moms threatened to kill him and then I took off my leg, Flint would run for the hills. I’m glad I listened to Thomas and gave him another chance. Thomas is generally worth listening to.

Eleanor’s voice: _Which one of them do you like more?_

Is that a trick question?

**_Thomas’ Confessional_ **

I suppose at this stage of the game, one has to be prepared to go home at any time. I am quite pleased that Flint chose to keep me around a bit longer. It's been... very nice, being with him. So I shan't complain about the very nice rear that I had to watch leave the house this evening. But it is a terrible shame. *sips his martini* Nevertheless, things are still going according to plan.

**_Flint's Confessional_ **

*stares sadly into the camera with a quivering lip*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kudos and comments <3 We're getting awfully close to the end now! The suspense is killing us! ;)


	9. The Final Dates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flint travels to exotic locales with his two finalists and gets well and properly laid.

**Mykonos, Greece**

Unlike Flint, who needed three applications of sunscreen, a hat, and an extra skin over his own as to not get sunburned, Thomas was bronzing by the Aegean sea like some burnished statue of an ancient charioteer. His skin glistened from sun-oil and sea-salt, his blond hair a shock of white, like a sail in the literal sea of blue. It made Flint want to reach out and ruffle that hair, if only to mess up Thomas’ perfectly put together look of perpetual calm. Instead, he settled gently into the lounge chair next to him and poked at the slices of fresh watermelon, recently served by a very comely and tastefully manscaped waiter.

“It could be like this every day,” Thomas sighed in contentment. “Azure seas, strong ouzo, Greek cabana boys.” He sighed with longing and picked up Flint’s hand with his own, rubbing his thumb gently along Flint’s.

“Would that be enough for you?” Flint wondered, munching on the watermelon. 

“You could do worse for a view,” Thomas evaded and looked over at Flint with a radiant smile. “I’m so glad to be here with you, James. Even though I fear the Mediterranean climes do not agree with your complexion.” His hand traced gently along Flint’s nose and cheekbones, as if chasing his freckles.

Temporarily lost in the curve of Thomas’ lips and his own reflection in his sunglasses, Flint leaned over and sucked on Thomas’ mouth as if it too were a perfectly ripe slice of watermelon. “I know what you mean,” he said as their lips separated. “It’s odd to think that there’s some other life out there for us to go back to.” _Another choice to be made_ , his brain supplied most helpfully.

While Thomas would be flown back to Hollywood for the finale, Flint had another similar trip ahead of him still. And not one Flint could bear to undertake without clearing the air. There was, after all, another elephant in the room, besides the one in Thomas’ tight swimming trunks. They’d been on the Greek island for several days, lost in revelries and in each other, almost forgetting the camera crews that followed them like shadows. Everything felt so simple around Thomas - but it may all have been an illusion, a sort of glamor that the other man cast over everything he touched.

It would have been easy not to think about the future, to put off all unpleasant thoughts and just bask in the glory of Thomas. Easy, if the one waiting for him had been anyone but John Silver.

"It's been so nice," he agreed again. "And I don't want to make it not nice. But... time marches forward and all that." Flint let his head lean back against the lounge, watching Thomas. "Tell me something... Miranda sent you here. Are you glad of it? If she hadn't, if we'd just met on the street like regular people... would we be here like this?"

“Darling,” Thomas propped his sunglasses up and fixed Flint with a slate-colored stare. “I would absolutely have followed you home like a creepy stalker, had I met you on the street.”

“You know what I mean,” Flint muttered with an involuntary flush. "There's been a lot of very eligible bachelors around. It feels strange to be the one that has to do the picking."

Thomas continued to regard him as he spoke. "Does it bother you that two of them left together and didn't play the game?"

"The ones with the weird cheese penchant?" Flint snorted. "No, I wasn't interested in either of them.”

“But something else _does_ bother you?” Thomas pressed.

There was no sense in beating about the bush, Flint decided. He’d never been a fan of bush, why start now? “Well, if we’re being honest,” he started, “the whole thing with you and Silver… It’s definitely gotten under my skin, and I just can’t shake it. I like you, both of you, but… If you’d rather be with each other than with me, I’d just as soon find out now.”

"Are you asking if I want to be with Silver, or if I want to be with you? The two aren't mutually exclusive, James. At least not for me."

"I'd gathered that," Flint replied wryly, picking up his drink and taking a long sip. "I guess I just want to know whether or not you're ready to settle down. I don't want to force anyone to do anything for a TV show."

“Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it?” Thomas said. “Two people can’t possibly get to know each other well enough on a TV show to have any surety beyond a certain sense of connection. But given the chance? I’d love to have the chance and get to _really_ know you, the real you. Where the only cameras following us are the ones _we_ choose to put in our own bedroom,” he added with a wink.

Flint laughed, feeling unburdened after Thomas’ outburst of refreshing honesty. “God, you’re a lot to handle,” he said.

Thomas licked his lower lip. “Well, yes. And that is why it often takes more than one man to handle me.”

Flint threw down his hat. “Sounds like a challenge. I accept.” He motioned in the direction of their hotel suite. “You know they say more than a handful is a waste, but I, for one, disagree.”

Thomas rose to the challenge, in every way that Flint could detect with his keen eye. “I’m gonna wreck you so hard, you won’t be able to sit on the plane,” Thomas purred as he advanced into Flint’s personal space.

“Then it’s a good thing they’re flying me first class, so I can recline,” Flint replied and wrapped his arms around Thomas’ tanned shoulders.

***

**Rome, Italy**

 

There was always a feeling to being in Rome that Flint had never found anywhere else. Something tangled up in the grandeur of the ancient, the remnants and beauty of a great civilization that was completely unlike anything North America could ever dream of. It was grounding, being among buildings and sculptures so old that it was hard for the mind to fully comprehend. Grounding, and euphoric: two feelings seemingly opposed to each other, yet equally intense.

A bit like how it was to be around Silver. A part of Flint felt like he might float away like a balloon on bubbles of his own glee, while another part felt like he’d found his home and anchor.

On top of that, watching the way Silver's eyes shone as he took in the city also brought its own special kind of joy. “The pictures don’t really do it justice,” Silver said, staring into the aperture in the center of the Pantheon’s dome. Flint knew the feeling, as he put down his own phone’s camera, having attempted to capture Silver’s rapt face.

He wrapped one arm around Silver's waist, leaning close. "Let's find the busiest little cafe and eat pasta and drink too much wine."

Silver laughed, leaning into him. "The camera crew won't like having to blur out everyone's faces."

"If we have dinner at home they're going to have to blur me eating olives out of your navel," Flint pointed out.

"You say that like it's a bad thing?"

In the end, they found a compromise, which involved dinner in a little cafe packed with tourists and Italians alike. The camera crew looked irritated standing outside, being jostled by pedestrians, while the poor sound guy was squashed into the corner behind the table. Flint supposed he ought to feel more generous towards them - after all, they too were just trying to make a living (no matter how dubiously). And as irritating as the show was, it had introduced him to three of the loveliest men he'd met in a very, very long time.

Then he bought gelato and took it and Silver home (i.e. to their appropriately swanky suite at Hotel Minerva) to lick the frozen confectionary off his perfect nipples. The bouquet of fresh flowers provided by the helpful staff to set the atmosphere nearly went tumbling to the floor as Flint laid Silver out on the table like an anticipated feast.

“It’s melting, take off your shirt,” he said. And at the moment, it made perfect sense. The gelato ran across Silver’s perfectly sculpted pectoral muscle and Flint dragged the flat of his tongue slowly up and down, until finally taking the little barbell that decorated Silver’s nippe into his mouth, and tugging gently.

Silver’s hands dug into the thicket of Flint’s hair. “Last time we had gotten this far, we were rudely interrupted,” he reminisced out loud.

“Yes, and then you ran away,” Flint said, looking expectedly up into Silver’s face. “Are you going to stay this time?”

Silver’s gaze was impossibly blue and starkly naked. “I’m all yours if you want me,” he whispered. The ice cream dripped again, this time into the beautiful groove in the middle of his chest, and Flint chased it with his tongue.

"I do want you," he murmured, indulgently letting some of the limoncello flavour pool in the hollow between Silver's clavicles. He licked the hollow clean, then traced up the tendons of his neck, sucking gently at the skin. "I'm sorry if I ever let you believe otherwise."

Under his lips he felt Silver draw a shuddering breath, his fingers tangling in Flint's hair. "I am, too," he rasped. "Sorry. I want... god, everything...."

Flint knew he still needed to ask Silver about - about Thomas, about everything. But the note of desperation in Silver's voice was too hard to ignore, and this moment had been too long coming. "Shh," he murmured, catching Silver's mouth with his own. "Shh, my sweet boy. I'll give you everything you want."

It felt different, being with Silver. His desire was still as strong, but it was a novel kind of need, tinged with the ache to taste and take and possess. He pulled Silver upright on the table and then into his arms, sweeping him determinedly into the bedroom while Silver did his best to distract him by devouring Flint's neck. "I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you," Flint growled as he tossed him down onto the mattress, hands going to Silver's jeans.

"Please," Silver gasped, wriggling until he was free of said jeans. Flint's hands slid languidly down Silver’s exposed legs, relishing the feel of warm skin under his palms until he reached the place where skin met prosthesis. He looked up to meet Silver’s concerned gaze.

"Do you want me to leave it alone? I will, if you want. But I don't mind. I promise I don't."

For a second Silver hesitated. Then he shook his head. "It's fine. But leave it. It ruins the momentum and I - I've waited too long, Captain... please...."

If Flint had a mind to the contrary, his cock certainly did not. A somewhat strangled sound escaped his lips as he surged forward to claim Silver's mouth again, helping as Silver pulled at his own pants. Soon enough he was naked against the glorious nudity of Silver's form, the hard length of his cock pressing into the warmth of Silver's stomach as he stole his breath with kisses.

Silver's fingers dug into the top of Flint's ass, hips giving a little stuttered buck up against him. "Please - fuck - "

"Yes," Flint agreed, and groped for the lube. There were a million ways he could imagine - and had imagined - fucking John Silver, but in the heat of the moment he couldn't bear to pull away, or to give up access to the sweetness of his mouth or that lucious throat. So soon he was pressing Silver's knees to his chest, finally rocking into him, finally, finally driving home, groaning his pleasure against Silver's lips.

"God - " Silver's fingers clenched at his hair, digging into the back of his scalp. He drew a shuddering breath. "God yes. Take me - all of me - "

"Everything," Flint managed to gasp, sheathing himself to the hilt.

This is what he'd needed, he thought as he dropped his head to suck at Silver's neck, gasping against his skin as he rocked into the heat of his body. Silver, laid bare and defenseless and yet somehow stronger than ever, crying out his pleasure as they moved together with increasing need. And in the haze of pleasure Flint found himself gasping as much, words half-sensical with lust but no less true. "Mine - beautiful - so much, John - need you, need - "

"Yes," Silver whimpered, and Flint felt his pleasure crest, pulling Flint along into exquisite bliss.

Afterwards, even when he could think again, Flint couldn't make himself pull away, nuzzling kisses to Silver's throat as he caught his breath. Finally he shifted enough to let Silver relax, sighing as Silver wrapped his legs around him loosely.

“Well that was…,” Silver breathed against Flint’s neck.

“Acceptable?” he murmured back, kissing the curls across Silver’s brow.

“Pedestrian, nothing to write home about.”

“Good,” Flint laughed, hand squeezing Silver’s ass possessively. “I’d hate to imagine your mothers reading such a lurid letter.”

His own heart still sent shocks of a post-coital drumbeat throughout his limbs, echoing in his head, Silver’s heart keeping tempo as he pressed into Flint’s side in warm comfort.

“Rome isn’t half bad,” Silver whispered, hand wrapped under Flint’s armpit. “How was Mykonos?”

Flint stirred, turning his head to look into Silver’s mischievous eyes. “Oh boy…”

"I'd ask for details but I could see the way you were walking when you got off the plane," Silver continued, his smile growing even more impish.

"I suppose you'd know that walk well enough," Flint said before he could stop himself, then winced. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean - "

Silver's smile faded, but not into disappointment. He stroked his fingers over the side of Flint's cheek. "It's alright. You can ask me whatever you need to."

Flint wet his lips. "Would you rather be with him?"

Silver's brows rose slightly. "Shouldn't the question be whether or not I want to be with you?"

Flint managed a shrug. "It's a scarier answer to hear, I suppose. I just... don't want you to feel obligated to do something you don't want to because of this stupid show. I need to know that you... that you really do want this. If we move forward."

Silver propped himself up on one elbow, his other hand freely roaming across Flint’s chest, thick fingers raking across the tufts of his russet chest hair. His eyes still appeared dark with lust but no longer taunting.

“I find you stupidly hot, Captain. I can barely think straight when I’m around you, and not just because I’m not… you know… straight.”

“But?” Flint prodded.

“I don’t know if there is so much of a but? I’m still young. Probably too young to commit to anything like _actual marriage_. But if you choose me at the final ceremony, I’m definitely willing to give it a go,” he completed, pressing his lips to Flint’s chest. “Besides,” he added, eyes lighting up again with an impish flame, “I have a feeling you need someone like me in your life, if for no other reason than to keep you humble.”

***

**  
_Silver’s Confessional_  
**

It's really beautiful here. It's really... I don't know if I could have ever imagined something so grand, or how I'd feel when I experienced it. Part of me feels like... now that I have, I can't go back to being without it.

Eleanor’s voice: _Do you mean Rome, or Flint?_

*looks away from the camera, but not soon enough to hide his smile.* The city. Of course I mean the city.

 

**_Thomas’ Confessional_ **

No matter what he decides at the next Rose Ceremony, I know James will make the right choice.

Eleanor’s voice: _What if he doesn’t choose you?_

Bitch, please. *sips his martini*

 

**_Flint’s Confessional_ **

Well, I have an impossible choice to make at the next Rose Ceremony. If I choose John Silver, I’m giving up the man I can actually easily picture fitting seamlessly into my life. And my… um…. Yeah. *mumbles* He’s well endowed. *clears throat* And if I choose Thomas Hamilton, I’m giving up this crazy chemistry I have with Silver. Plus, I’m still not entirely sure that they wouldn’t just run off with each other the first chance they got. And…

Eleanor’s voice: _You seem sad. Really sad. Is there something else you’re holding back?_

And… On top of all that, I really fucking miss Sebastian Utley. *sighs* I made him a promise and now I feel like an asshole.

Eleanor’s voice: _Well, you are a pretty huge asshole._

Thanks, Ellie. That helps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot, we're only one chapter away! Pray for us to have the stamina and health to finish this soon (we'll need the stamina ESPECIALLY). We love you <3


	10. The Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The very happiest of endings!

Setting up for the final Rose Ceremony was mostly a question of keeping the contestants separated from each other as well as from Flint. Usually, that would be accomplished by setting them up at separate bars, but in this instance, it was Eleanor herself who was found in the garden taking swigs from a bottle of gin.

“Who should we film first then?” Featherstone sidled up to her, cautiously.

“I don’t fucking know, he won’t tell me what he’s decided,” Eleanor slurred.

“But he has to tell you!” Featherstone gesticulated in exasperation. “And stop drinking, for fuck’s sakes, you have to host!” He actually dared to attempt snatching the bottle from Eleanor’s hand only to receive a swift kick in the shin.

“You’re so smart, you try telling Flint what to fucking do!”

The door to Flint’s residence opened, and he finally strode out, resplendent in his tuxedo and bowtie. “I’m ready,” he stated, calmly taking in the scene. “Are you?” he raised an eyebrow at Eleanor.

“You’ve decided?” both Featherstone and Eleanor asked simultaneously.

“Yes,” Flint nodded. “I know what to do.”

“Fucking great!” Eleanor grabbed him by the elbow and steered him towards one of the podiums set up near the neatly trimmed topiary. “Do you want me to bring in Thomas or Silver first? It’s up to you, of course, we’ll edit it later, but I highly recommend getting it over with first with the one you’re going to dump. Now… What will it be, pops?”

“Bring in Thomas,” Flint said somberly.

“You sure?” Eleanor prodded.

“Yes, bring in Thomas,” Flint’s frown deepened.

“Okay, it’s your funeral! Or wedding!”

“As always, I appreciate your enthusiasm,” Flint replied with an eyeroll.

Eleanor ignored him, signalling for the cameras to roll while Featherstone hurried off to bring in Lord Hamilton. If she had been a betting woman, she wouldn’t have bet on Flint choosing Silver. Of course, it would be ratings gold if he did. Silver was entirely too young and unsuitable, which would make people talk about it for months to come (or so she hoped).

Meanwhile, Flint adjusted his bowtie and french cuffs, and stood at attention as if he was still a Navy officer at an inspection. When Thomas appeared, Flint’s face lit up and he extended his hand, while Thomas joined him at the podium.

“Thank you for joining me,” Flint said rather formerly.

“My pleasure,” Thomas smiled.

“It really has been,” Flint continued, “And I’m so glad you’re here today. From the first moment I saw you at the meet and greet, I knew that you and I were destined for great things together.”

 _Where the fuck is this going?_ Eleanor wondered, poking at her earpiece to make sure she was getting the audio correctly.

“You’ve really opened my eyes and horizons in unexpected ways,” Flint continued to speak. “I believe that my world will be monumentally better for having you in it.”

“Why, James, you old romantic,” Thomas muttered while a pink blush crept over his cheeks.

“Now,” Flint cleared his throat. “Thomas Hamilton, will you give me your hand… and come seek out John Silver with me? I believe they’ve hidden him in these bushes somewhere.”

“What is happening!” Eleanor exclaimed.

“I’d like nothing more, darling!” Thomas said, clasping Flint’s hand with exuberance. “Follow us!” he nodded towards the crew.

“What are you doing? You don’t even know where you’re going!” Eleanor pointed out.

“Then you’d better point us in the right direction,” Flint told her. "Come on now, don't make the crew waste film!"

Mouth still open, Eleanor waved vaguely towards the production trailers hidden behind the tree line. Flint gave a firm nod, then started off at a march, tucking Thomas' hand in the crook of his elbow.

For a moment Eleanor could only stare at the crew that streamed after the apparent runaway grooms. Then common sense kicked in, and she raced to catch up. She was just in time to see Flint relinquish Thomas' hand to bound up the steps of the first trailer, emerging a few moments later with Silver in his arms in a bridal carry.

"I can walk - " Silver protested, but his words fell silent at the sight of the crew - and Thomas - outside.

"What kind of a proposal would this be if I made you walk?" Flint replied back, stopping in front of Thomas and favoring him with an expectant smile.

"Pr..." Silver looked between the two of them, wide-eyed.

"I believe what James means is to marry both of us," Thomas supplied with a twinkle in his eye. "Or perhaps for both of us to marry you?"

“Um… I’m flattered?” Silver said, adjusting his clothes. “But I’m pretty sure that, while awfully romantic, it’s still not technically legal in this country. Or any country.”

“I’m quite sure we don’t really give a toss,” Thomas said with a shrug as he rocked back on his heels. “James?”

"Yes," Flint said, giving a firm nod. "That. All of that. Or at least all of us, together, for as long as we're all happy. You both make me want to be a better man and I hope you feel the same way about me… and each other.”

“We do,” Silver and Thomas replied in unison.

“This is most unorthodox,” poor Featherstone whispered into Eleanor’s ear.

“This is fucking ratings gold!” she said, knees shaking with excitement. “The scandal! The lurid headlines! It could not have gone better!”

"But there has to be a winner!" Featherstone hissed back, and surprisingly, produced a flask of his own.

“I think we can all agree,” Eleanor said, clinking their flasks together, “that the biggest winner here is going to be me.”

 

***

The show had already prepaid for a honeymoon suite with a ravishing ocean view, and that was where Flint and his two chosen men hastened to retire. With Thomas on one arm, Silver on the other, and finally free of the cameras, Flint was laughing all the way to the suite door. They’d probably be laughing about the looks on everyone’s faces for a long time yet, he figured.

“I’m really proud of you, darling,” Thomas declared, taking the key out of his own pocket. “I knew you would make the right decision, and you didn’t disappoint. And now…” He grinned and glanced over at Silver. “I hope you two don’t mind, but I got James a conjugal gift of my own.”

“Well, put me down as scared and horny,” Silver said.

“What he said,” Flint agreed.

The key activated the pad, the little green light went on, and the three men tumbled through the door to find Utley sprawled across the rose-petal covered California king bed.

“Finally,” Utley groused, stretching languidly, “I was about to jerk myself off into a nap.”

“Sorry, babe,” Thomas chimed in, “You know how sometimes these things take longer than they should.”

Flint’s head twirled with dangerous speed for a man his age, eyes darting from one man to another to yet another. “What the bloody fuck is fuckening?” he finally blurted out.

“Well, John and I saw how sad you were the week you had to say goodbye to Sebastian here,” Thomas explained while Silver nodded sagely and stroked his chin, “And really, there was no reason why we couldn’t _all_ celebrate the completion of the show. Was there, darling?”

“I do hope this is a welcome surprise,” Utley purred from the bed.

“The welcomest,” Flint admitted, loosening his collar. Leaning down to nuzzle Utley's ear, he felt the remains of his tension bleed out. This... yes, this was how things should always be.

"I'm so glad you're here," he murmured in Utley's ear. "You will help me keep these two satisfied, won't you?"

Utley turned his face up to claim Flint's lips in a kiss, smiling against his mouth. "That is exactly the kind of service I came on this show to provide."

 

***

**6 months later**

Eleanor’s voice: _Welcome back to a very special episode of ‘Where Are They Now’, a two-hour special that takes a look at the highlights of the last season and catches up with some of our faves!_

*camera zooms in on a couch where Flint, Utley, Silver, and Thomas are all sitting next to each other, sipping martinis*

Thomas: It’s been really brilliant having two younger men around for when James and I are lying there exhausted, staring at the ceiling, praying for death to take us.

Flint: Sebastian and John are still down there, _doing_ stuff. I’m pretty sure they don’t even care half the time that Thomas and I have completely checked out.

Thomas: I once used Silver as a writing table and I’m pretty sure he came just from me writing out checks across his ass.

Silver: You make it sound so salacious. It wasn’t because of the money!

Utley: It does help that Thomas is made of money though because sometimes we don’t leave the bedroom for days and would quite frankly starve to death were it not for all the indentured servitude…

Thomas: They’re my employees! I pay them!

Flint: *rolling his eyes* This is what’s it’s always like. Sometimes there’s only one way to shut them up. *winks* Not that you’ll hear me complain.

Thomas (aside to Silver): It is _so_ your turn to get spit-roasted, young man! We just did James on Tuesday!

Utley: I can go again if he’s being precious about it.

Thomas: You’re a good sport, Sebastian.

Flint: *staring into the camera* I’m in heaven. Thank you, Eleanor Guthrie. You truly are my best friend and heir.

 

~~~

Eleanor’s voice: _The fourth member of our top four contestants has found his own happy ending... with a very familiar face._

*Dooley sits beaming in front of a wall of sharpened katanas. His curly hair is somehow even curlier* I was really, really broken-hearted when I left the show, and for a while I wasn't really sure where to turn. And then one day I thought that maybe I could alleviate my sorrow by talking to someone else who understood my heartbreak.

*The sound of steel being sharpened can be heard in the background*

Dooley: Once I started talking to him, I was just really amazed by how good of a listener he was. He doesn't even mind how much I talk. I'm still amazed by how much he gets me, and since I showed up to his house he's never asked me to leave!

*The camera pans to where Joji is sharpening a wakizashi. He stops to wink at the camera and make the "OK" sign*

 

~~~

Eleanor’s voice: _Even though he never made it into the top 5, this contestant aroused a lot of audience interest due to his singularly goal-oriented search for… the lesbians of his dreams?_

*The camera focuses on a boutique shopping center, traveling up to the door of a store, over which a shining new sign reads "Queen Anne's Ceramics". Cut to a shot of three potter’s wheels in a line, with hands shaping three pots. One set of hands squashes their pot, and the beginning of a string of curses is heard before they're beeped out.*

Jack: *smiling at the cameras* My time on the show left me really wanting to give back to the world, and I'm so blessed to have been able to find two beautiful women who are also beautiful philanthropists and could help me make this dream a reality.

*In the background, a lump of clay goes sailing through the air to splat against the wall before Anne stomps after it. Max appears on the screen, smiling warmly.*

Max: If you would like to step away from your life and experience the serenity of pottery, please come and join us.

Jack: *beaming* They may not be my wives, but we’re going to be together until they put us in the [censored] ground.

 

~~~

Eleanor’s voice: _While two of our contestants exited the season very early, the unique passion they discovered on the show unexpectedly won over the hearts of many._

*camera pans in on a small boutique with a sign “ÀrtisÀnal Fromagerie” over the door*

Billy: If you would’ve asked me six months ago where I see myself heading in my career, I never would’ve imagined it would be owning an artisanal cheese shop with the love of my life, Ben Gunn. But when you meet someone who shares your passion…

Ben: It’s so nice to come home to someone who understands the health benefits and flavor profile of a finely aged parmesan.

Billy: No, there’s nothing quite like it.

Ben: Nothing. Parmesan enhances _everything._

Billy: Would you like to try some locally sourced chevre? I milked the goats myself.

 

~~~

Eleanor’s voice: _And finally, we look at one contestant who came to our show with a very specific desire. One that we are thrilled to announce that we will continue to be a part of. So now, it is time to reveal... next season’s Bachelor._

*On camera, a black limousine moves slowly up the drive towards the house, the tinted windows giving it an air of mystery*

New, deep masculine voice: _My journey with The Bachelor started because I believe that true love is possible. I believe in the power of coming together to find romance in front of millions of viewers, and that the love found live on reality TV can be true and lifelong. If that love is with the right man._

*The camera zooms in to the door of the limousine opening. One very nice Italian leather shoe steps onto the concrete*

Man's voice: _Our new bachelor is the most outstanding of men. A calibre of man that has never yet been seen on The Bachelor. Our new bachelor will be remembered in the annals of television history. I hope your heart is ready to go on this journey with all of the world, because it is my honor and privilege now to introduce to you for the first time...._

*The camera pans up a perfectly pressed pant leg, over a belt, and onto... abs. A bare chest, a suit jacket hanging off of a man's elbows, forearms corded. Long, dark hair falling over shoulders. And finally, a man's face, looking ever-so-slightly confused.*

Edward Teach’s voice: _....My Son, Charles Vane._

 

***

**  
**_Vane’s Confessional_  


*stares into the camera, now entirely shirtless and even more confused*

Eleanor's voice: _You're about to meet the group of men who will vie to be the love of your life. How does it feel?_

I'm... not really sure what the hell this all is? Why am I dating men?

Edward Teach's voice: _It's okay, son. Just believe in the process._

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope you enjoyed going with us on this life affirming journey <3


End file.
